


Together Again

by eppyweppy



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Avengers Family, Avengers Feels, Hurt Natasha Romanov, No Team Bashing, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Protective Avengers, Recovery, The Raft Prison (Marvel), Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-12 19:34:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 29,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28515774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eppyweppy/pseuds/eppyweppy
Summary: After the Civil War, the team split. Steve and his team hiding in Wakanda, and Tony with his team at the compound. Natasha, not quite belonging to either, strikes out on her own. After months are hiding and running, she is captured by Ross and brought to the Raft. Months later, Tony finds out, and must bring the team back together again to rescue one of their own.
Comments: 74
Kudos: 151





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, welcome to my story! I'm going to be going over a bit of the time line here. There will be some clear backstory in the prologue but I want people to be on the same page.
> 
> The story 'starts' about two months after the Civil War. At this point, Bucky is in cryo in Wakanda. Clint and Scott are still hiding out with Cap, having been broken out of the Raft. Natasha has disappeared into the wind, feeling like she does not belong with either team because of her betrayals and the sides she has chosen. She probably would've joined Steve later on for the sake of canon but for this story it will go different. 
> 
> This is a team getting back together story. There will be no author/narrator bashing on any characters (except Ross probably) or either team. I like all the characters! If you want a team bashing story, there are definitely plenty of those still going around, but it won't be found here! There might be some in character judgement of each other but that will not be the focus, and it will fade as they continue to work together.
> 
> This story contains torture, captivity, and just plain horrible people being horrible. Expect some cursing as well!

For two months she had been on her own, unable to or unwilling to contact any of her former fractured team. On the run, hiding from Ross and the government, and avoiding as much contact with potential enemies as possible. Steve had found refuge, along with Sam, Clint, Bucky and Scott in Wakanda. Tony was using his tech to help Rhodey, while he worked on healing from his event in Siberia. Natasha knew all this, having kept tabs on them to make sure everyone was okay. But she did not belong with either side.

Longing for the team she used to have made it difficult for her to reach out. They were her family, or had been. The last words Tony had said to her still stung, despite how hard she tried to pretend they didn’t. She couldn’t be angry or even blame him for it, because she had betrayed him, and she knew he was hurt more than anyone.

It didn’t change the fear she felt when she thought he found her. He had told her to hide from Ross, but perhaps his anger would make him want to help Ross find her.

Years of teamwork, crashing down around her like rubble. Her family torn apart. She was in the wind, resorting to her old lifestyle to stay alive, moving from place to place, never settling. At times it seemed like she was constantly running, and there had been a few occasions where she had nearly been caught. A barely-healed gunshot wound to the hip throbbed at the reminder of one such close call, gunned down on a highway.

She had no backup. SHIELD could not help her, although she knew Fury was keeping tabs on her as best he could, trying to help. He had managed to get her medical treatment after she had been shot. He even managed to get her food supplies from time to time, during weeks where the government was practically guarding every store, food market, and food bank in the country. It was an achingly familiar feeling, one that she had not had to deal with for so long after Clint had saved her. Now it was back, and she was _nothing_ , lost and alone and missing everyone she loved.

Pain in her heart. She had signed the accords, and then she had broken them. Her reasons for signing and breaking them were the same. To keep the team together. But Steve had been so stubborn, refusing to stop. People were getting hurt. Her team was getting hurt. So she let them go.

In her heart she knew she had no hope of stopping two super soldiers, despite her skills in combat and widow bites. Both of them resisted the effects of electricity, and while she was more skilled tactically, they had the stamina, regeneration, and strength to easily defend themselves. Bucky had done it several times already, although only as the Winter Soldier. With T’Challa, she probably could have stopped them. But at what cost?

She had thought it would be worth it. But seeing the pain of her betrayal on Tony, followed by what happened in Siberia, she wasn’t so sure that it had been. He was right to hate her. The rest were right to leave her behind.

Who could ever trust a spy?

Footsteps on the roof, soft and quick. She jolted up right in an instant, on her feet, gun raised and ready. They had found her, again. Natasha cursed herself for staying still for so long, wishing she had another week or two for her injury to heal so she could at least lose the limp. She moved, her dark suit allowing her to blend into the shadows of the warehouse she had been camping. It was night, and there was no electricity in the building. It wouldn’t matter, as the agents likely were wearing night vision gear.

She moved quickly, ignoring the pain in her hip. Her eyes were well adjusted to the dark, and easily spotted the movement to her right. She ducked, fired, and one agent went down with a yell. She ran.

Quick, efficient. Upstairs two agents screamed as they stumbled into her electricity trap, tumbling to the ground. The front door exploded inward, triggering the smoke bomb at the entrance that flooded the air full of dust and debris. She ducked to avoid randomly fired bullets from semi-automatic weapons, and lunged through a window she had smashed before hand just in case. The other section of the warehouse seemed empty, until someone stepped out in front of her. She dropped, skidding across the floor on her knees before jolting upward, ramming one leg into the agent’s groin, before punching him viciously in the throat. The man gagged, and she shoved him out of the way.

She ducked to avoid a baton, using her good leg to hook another attacker’s legs from beneath him. She propelled herself down, forcing him to crack his head against the floor from her added weight. Up, move, run.

Her hip throbbed in tune with her heart beat.

Men were screaming all around her. Bullets were flying by. She was almost out of the building, out the secret exit she had crafted for herself. Something suddenly fell on her, heavy and feeling like webbing. It tangled up in her legs and she pitched forward, tumbling to the ground. They had dropped a _net_ on her, she realized.

Before she could even move to cut it open with her knife, it crackled to life, and her body seized with pain. Electricity flooded through the net, pouring into her body at every point of contact – and there were many, considering how she was tangled all through it. Her teeth smacked together painfully as she bit back a yell of pain, and she writhed in agony on the metal floor as the electricity continued to assault her, unyielding. Somewhere, through the haze of pain floating before her eyes, she saw a man raising a gun to her.

He fired. A pellet burned into her shoulder, and then there was even more electricity. It was a taser, crippling her in agony even as she thrashed in pain from the electric net. Her heart was racing under the strain of all the currents flowing through her, and she couldn’t hold back a pained cry, biting her own tongue in her efforts to remain silent.

“Sir, we have her. She is being neutralized,” a voice spoke, loud and clear near her ear as the burn of electricity chased her into darkness.

**2 Months Later:**

Tony greeted Ross with the bare minimum amount of professionalism as he stepped onto the Raft, having remembered his last, no so pleasant visit here. Of course, it had been slightly redecorated since then, with Steve having broken all of his team out. Tony had not admitted to anyone that he had been relieved to hear that news, because in spite of everything that happened, he couldn’t feel happy about them living in what was practically a cage. Especially Wanda, forced into a collar and straight jacket with a glazed look in her eyes that spoke of heavy amounts of drugs being pumped into her blood stream. He had wanted, when he had seen that, to say something then and there. But his relationship with Ross was shaky to start with, and if he ended up thrown onto the Raft? He couldn’t help anyone. Normally he would doubt anyone would be able to do that to him, but having signed his life away to the Accords, something he was really regretting.

It sounded good at the time. But it tied his hands real tight when he saw something going on that he didn’t like.

Ross had called him over to look at some prototype containment fields, designed to create a kind of ‘barrier’ that would be useful in decreasing collateral damage during avengers-related conflicts. It sounded good on paper, but Tony knew that explanation of use was a load of shit. He knew they were being designed to capture Cap and his team.

He couldn’t say no. But maybe, just maybe, he could make some modification that would prevent them from causing real pain to a target. Ross didn’t care about the damage he caused to ‘freaks’, as he called them.

Tony was really hating Ross. Hindsight was not only 20/20, but it was seriously biting him in the ass these days.

“Glad to see you made it, Mr. Stark,” Ross said in a tone that suggested he didn’t care at all if Tony made it or not. Tony knew Ross knew that Tony hated him. And he was perfectly okay with that. Ross had him on a leash, like a tamed mutt, and everyone knew it.

“So what presents you got to show me?” Tony asked, getting straight to it. The sooner he checked them out, the sooner he could get off this shitty floating prison and away from a place that likely had tormented someone he cared – or used to care – about.

As he was led through the Raft, his gaze traveled to the cells… or… a cell, to be exact. He paused, not having expected there to be anyone here. The person was huddled up on the floor, wrists bound in front of them, ankles bound together. They had a sack over their head, loosely tied around the throat to prevent them from pulling it off themselves. He could tell that the person was female based on the body shape, but the sack hid all distinguishing features, even the hair color. A knot of anxiety built in him. This was wrong. Something was wrong.

“Who is that?” He asked, trying to sound curious but unconcerned.

Ross glanced over, almost looking surprised to see who he was looking at. “Oh, that’s an enhanced we found causing havoc in a few countries. She has some annoying abilities that we are trying to counter so we can remove all those bindings. Make her more comfortable, when it’s safe to do so,” Ross said, sounding almost sympathetic. Tony could tell he was full of shit.

He didn’t like this at all. No one deserved to be left like that. Bound, blinded, unable to understand what was going on around them.

He glanced over again, realizing that the person had shifted slightly, head tilted towards him. She was trembling, faintly, and whether it was due to fear, exhaustion, or being cold, he wasn’t sure. Troubled, he looked back at Ross who was waiting for him, disinterested.

“Surely there’s a better way to keep someone contained than that,” Tony said mildly, even though his heart was pounding uncomfortably, and he was getting more nervous and angry by the second.

Ross sighed. “I know you don’t condone this kind of thing. But she had taken down over a dozen guards when we brought her in, and nearly escaped twice. After one of my agents was killed trying to stop her we had to step up the restraint,” he said. Tony frowned. Ross was watching him closely now, too closely. Almost studying him. Tony knew he had to act his part.

“I guess someone that dangerous is best left in here,” he said, trying to sound callous. He didn’t miss the way the woman in the cell slumped at his words. The sense of wrongness was brutal, now.

For the next hours he went over the gadgets, testing them out, tweaking them slightly, and making recommendations that were often ignored or shut down entirely. He could not stop thinking about the woman in the cell. There was simply something familiar about her. When he left, he took one final look, and his stomach practically dropped to the floor.

That small form, with a lithe, cat-like body he had seen in many combat situations again and again. She was very thin now, having lost muscle in her captivity, but he _knew_ her.

It was Romanoff.

Four hours later, Tony was back in his tower, trying not to hyperventilate to a worried Rhodey about what he saw. The last time he had seen her, it had been telling her that being a double agent was in her blood, and seeing her reaction – barely a reaction, but enough of one that he had known it had hurt deep. Too hurt himself and too angry to take it back. Then she had gone, disappearing like a shadow, her scathing anger only adding to his guilt.

Rhodey’s expression went from panicked to concerned and then to angry as he finally understood what Tony was saying.

“What the fuck?” Was all he said.

Tony reached for the phone. He couldn’t do this alone, and as much as he didn’t want to call or see them right now, he knew he needed them. Because the only thing that was going to save Natasha was her team.

Tony dialed the number, knowing it was time to get the Avengers back together. He wasn't sure he was ready to see them, but the life of Natasha was more important than his own comfort and feelings.


	2. Desperation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha has been held on the Raft and tortured for an unknown amount of time. No matter what, she won't give in. Even if she's starting to wonder why.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: this chapter contains past and present violence and torture. Read with caution. NO non-con!

Cold cycled back in. She began to shiver again at the temperature of her cell dropped. She curled in on herself as best as she could, trying not to cry out from the pain movement brought to her. Her body had been beaten so many times, by fists and feet and metal. She didn’t know how long she had been trapped here. The memory of being electrocuted into unconsciousness was a distant one, pushed away by brutal beatings, interrogations, and various torments. The cell always ranged from too hot to too cold, never settling to a comfortable temperature except when _he_ visited. She couldn’t even take comfort in those rare times, because _his_ cruelty was the worst.

She twisted weakly on the floor, longing for the comfort of something soft beneath her bruised and lacerated body, instead of the cold concrete. Longed for the bindings on her wrists and ankles to be removed, so the gouges there could finally begin to heal and stop itching and burning so badly. Wished for the gag to be removed, so she could breath normally and move her jaw to ease the cramping from being held in one position for so long. She wished she could see something, and wished her hearing wasn’t compromised by the heavy material covering her head at all times.

She hurt. Her body ached from near endless abuse. She was exhausted but could almost never sleep. Hungry, but was only offered food to keep her alive. Thirsty, but only offered water for the same reason. She longed for comforts she could not have. Longed for mercy that she could not ask for.

Sometimes, she just wished they would kill her and be done.

A door clanged. She jolted, fearful that they were coming for her. Instead, there were voices outside, in the large room her cell was connected to. She heard Ross. And then she heard another voice, one that made her stiffen with fear and also feel hopeful for, at the same time. Tony. Tony. It was Tony. She wanted to beg for help through her gag, but remained silent, out of fear that perhaps he was in on this. Perhaps he wanted this. She deserved it, didn’t she? He had no reason to help her. To trust her. She was a double agent, a backstabber, a traitor.

She stilled as he asked about her. Head tilted toward him. Ross answered. _Liar!_

His next words nearly made her hopeful. She was shaking again, trembling with anxiety and fear and being cold. Then he accepted Ross’s words, and she sagged back in defeat. Why would he help her, when she deserved all of this?

It went silent for awhile. She counted to 500 in her head. Then back down. Then did the same in Russian. And the next language. It was how she passed the time in between being _dealt with_.

Noise. People walking. Someone leaving.

_Tentatre. Trentadue._

Silence again.

Less long this time. Footsteps outside her cell. “Good evening, Miss Romanoff,” a man’s voice said. She recognized it as the agent she had nicknamed _Bull_. He felt like a wall of muscles. She had kicked him at the beginning, in an effort to escape. In the end, he had charged her down and beat her viciously until she lost consciousness. The other time, during one of the first times they had removed the gag to try and feed her, she bit off a man’s finger. They had beat her unconscious again. After that, they had starved her until she could no longer think coherently, giving her water so sparingly that each tiny amount she was given did nothing to ease the constant dryness of her mouth and throat.

She didn’t know how long she had been here, but she knew even if they removed her bonds, she would not be escaping. She barely had the strength to roll herself onto her side. Prolonged starvation, dehydration, beatings, and being bound and unable to move had taken its toll on her body. She was weak and thin, with muscles atrophying from both the starvation and inability to move.

Chains rattled loudly and she cringed, recoiling in panic. Her arms were wrenched over her head and she writhed in pain as she was hauled into the air by her bound wrists, dangling just off the ground. Her shoulders and arms cried out in pain, and she shuddered, knowing what was to come.

Arms above her head. Ankles tied to the floor, preventing her from kicking out while she was hanging off the ground by her wrists. 

Part of her wanted to plead for mercy, to beg them to stop and let her rest. She was never given a chance to heal. No chance for broken bones to mend. The first hit landed in her ribs, and she seized in pain. Another struck her directly in her stomach, and she dry heaved uselessly into her gag. Ribs, hips, chest, cheek. A hand tightened around her throat and she choked, writhing in the air like a dying fish.

She gasped when it let go. Then she trembled desperately in the freezing air, her thin clothing doing nothing to protect her from the cold or the pain as she heard footsteps all around.

“Christ. I think it’s shower time for the lady,” a nasally voice mocked. She couldn’t help the flinch. She had not had a shower since she had come in, and her body was practically crusted over with dried blood and sweat. No doubt it must reek, although she didn’t notice the smell anymore since she had been in it so long.

Chains rattled. She yelped as she fell to the ground, crumbling uselessly when her feet hit the floor, unable to hold her own weight. She heard laughter. Her wrists were grabbed, and she was being dragged outside her cell, also for the first time. Other than the two escape attempts, she had never been brought outside before for anything. At least it was warmer out there than in the cell. They dragged her for what felt like hours, likely just a sensation caused by her aching, weakened body being jolted across the floor. Then they dropped her, and a boot on her chest pinned her face up on the floor.

“Might want to hold your breath a little bit, darling,” a voice mocked.

She tried. Someone kicked her in the side and she gasped just as a jet spray of icy water came streaming all over her. She writhed desperately, trying to get away from the freezing water as it soaked her instantly, almost forgetting all the pains in her body. The boot kept her down, and she understood now what the man meant by holding her breath.

The sack on her head got soaked, pressing down against her mouth. Her desperate gasps soon became coughing and sputtering as water flooded into her nose and mouth, and even as she struggled, trying to breath, the soaked material still made her feel like she was drowning. No matter how she struggled she couldn’t get air in, and panic closed tight around her chest. Just as she was sure she would pass out, the water turned off. She wheezed and spluttered helplessly, struggling to breath through the drenched fabric.

Then something else was poured over her, everywhere except over her face. For a brief moment she was still, simply focused on catching her breath. Then her back arched off the ground and she lost control, letting out a wail as pure, agonizing _pain_ burned across her body. It was so excruciating that she was sure they had actually set her on fire, and she was thrashing weakly on the floor as the smell of rubbing alcohol started to get through the hood to her nose. It burned. _She_ burned. It was like being on fire, as the alcohol found all the many cuts and lacerations on her body and went straight into her.

It felt like hours, lying there on that floor with her body being burned alive by rubbing alcohol, which served a dual purpose of cleaning her wounds for the first time that she had been here. At some point the pain ebbed, and she trembled on the floor, motionless other than feeble twitches or spasms of her muscles.

“That’s much better,” a man said.

They dragged her back, throwing her roughly into her cell. Landing on her side, she simply lay there, so exhausted that she physically could not move. Cold, beaten, and alone, she passed out from complete exhaustion.

* * *

She woke to the clanging of the cell door. She stiffened nervously, awaiting a beating. Instead, she was rolled onto her back, and barely held back a strangled sound of pain from the movement. Someone straddled her, sitting just above her waste. She felt a hand pulling up at the hood, and relief washed through her. Desperate for anything to ease the dry ache in her throat. The cup was held to the edge of her mouth, and water trickled in around her gag. They had learned awhile ago not to remove it, as she certainly wasn’t afraid to bite. Now, though, she doubted she’d have the strength to do any damage. Even if she tried, they would still beat her.

The water was taken away much too soon. Whoever was on top of her stood, getting up and leaving. She simply lay there, too weak and feeble to move.

“You’ve seen better days,” Ross spoke.

She flinched violently, not having realized he was there. The temperature was comfortable, but she had been too distracted to notice. Her breathing picked up, panicked, because it was never good when he visited her. She tried to push herself backwards across the floor, away from his voice, but her body barely responded to her. So weak and useless.

“You should have seen the look of disgust on Stark’s face when I told him who you were,” Ross continued. “Quite pathetic. Stark doesn’t want you. Not even Rogers is coming for you. You betrayed your way through too many people,” the man sneered.

She tried not to flinch. Tried not to believe his words, because they were just words to hurt her. But part of her knew it was true. It had to be. She had betrayed and lied to so many people, it made sense no one would care. Just a traitor, a liar. A spy. A spy had no place in this world. It wasn’t the 90s or early 2000s anymore. She was useless. Worthless. Tears leaked out of her eyes in spite of herself. She felt some relief that he couldn’t see her face.

“Why protect them any more? Tell us where they are. I’ll get you a nice bed. The chains will come off. You can eat and drink and bathe. No more beatings,” he said almost kindly.

She hated herself for wanting to agree.

She wanted her suffering to end. But she shuddered, closed her eyes and shook her head.

“That’s too bad.”

His voice was instantly cold.

A boot on her arms pressed them against the floor. A hand on her bound wrists. Another found its way around her left arm, just above the boot holding her down. She knew what was going to happen before it happened, but still couldn’t quite prepare herself for it. Her attacker wrenched on her arm, boot still pressing her upper arm solidly against the floor. A bone in her lower arm – her radius, she thought – snapped like a tree branch. A cold feeling ripped through her, followed by a powerful wave of nausea. And then the pain hit, and she howled agonizingly around the gag still blocking her mouth.

The weight was gone, and she tried to curl in on herself, protecting her broken arm. She broke into a cold sweat, trembling harder as shock raced through her. Chains rattled.

_No!_

Her arms were wrenched violently over her head, and for the second time, she _howled_ from pain as her broken arm jerked painfully, taking her weight. She tried to pull with her right arm, to take as much weight as possible on that side, but was too weak to hold herself up.

Belatedly she realized pained whimpers were escaping her with every breath, but couldn’t find it in herself to stop them.

“I’ll give you a couple more weeks to change your mind,” Ross said, and she heard his footsteps as he left the cell, leaving her to her agony. But she was not alone.

A hand found its way up her shirt. A knife dug into the skin over her ribs. Cut. Again. Again. She trembled with pain, struggling to hold back her cries. Last time they had left 30 cuts. Shallow, small cuts all over her torso. This time she could feel the cuts were deeper. Blood was dribbling out of her wounds, tickling her skin. She heard a cry and made herself believe it wasn’t from her. Cut. Cut. Cut.

_Drip. Drip. Drip._

She passed out at 46.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the kudos and comments! Definitely scouting around tumblr and bookmarks to find other works to read. 
> 
> This story is fast moving. The focus will be more heavily on recovering with the help of her team than on the violence itself, so it will be getting to that as soon as possible!


	3. Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Both teams come together to do a rescue. Breaking into the RAFT is an easy feat, but dealing with what they find will be much harder for everyone on the team.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This entire chapter is in Tony's POV! There will be more team point of views and Nat POVs coming up. As far as sexual assault goes, I have not planned on anything specifically, but it could be something that pops up during a flash back or a recovery standpoint. Thanks for the comments and thank you for reading! 
> 
> My plan is to update regularly until it is finished. I also have another story idea (or a couple) I hope to get started soon.

Everyone stood together solemnly. It was quiet among them. They knew what the mission was. Why they had all gathered together. While there was still some bad blood between them, their focus was not on that. They were standing together to save one of their own. It hurt Tony to even look at Steve, and from the awkward, uncomfortable way Steve was standing, it seemed to be mutual. Sam was sitting, staring at the ground as if it would burn a hole in it. Rhodey was looking around the room, sternly but not aggressively. Vision was with Wanda, unsurprisingly, and Wanda was carefully avoiding meeting anyone’s eyes. Scott looked out of place and uncomfortable, perhaps not thinking he had a place with them. And Clint…

“We’re almost there, Clint,” Steve said softly to the pacing, agitated archer. After the phone call, they had shown up within several hours, and the first thing Clint had done was pace a hole in his floor from sheer stress. Watching the man fret over his partner and friend was painful to watch, and Tony kept having to look away.

Clint snarled wordlessly in response, looking like he wanted to teleport across the ocean to the Raft and bomb it out of existence.

They had had to wait almost a week for the underwater fortress to rise from the ocean, and they were on a timer to get there in time, stop it from submerging again, and get Nat out. And depending what they found when they got there… blow it up. Tony would be happy with that, Accords be damned.

They had spent nearly a week together, and somehow, did not manage to kill each other. Perhaps because their focus was on their missing member. Or… one of them. He tried not to think about where Bruce was, still missing somewhere out in the world. Never found. No word or sight of him since Ultron. And Thor, somewhere out in space. He at least visited from time to time. That was nice. Well, okay, he had not visited recently.

The Raft was in sight. Clint, at long last, went still, his back rigid as he stared at it. Tony stepped into his armor, ready to fight. Steve was equipped with a baton of some type and a gun. No shield. Because Tony had his shield, didn’t he? He forgot that detail.

“Let’s be quick. Get in without being noticed, then make a mess,” Tony said.

Steve did not argue.

Tony slipped unnoticed onto the deck before blowing the outside door off its hinges. Alarms went off, but it was much too late. “FRIDAY, disable their submersion systems” he ordered, as he plopped a device on the wall.

“Disabling” the AI said.

He moved, watching as agents came running. “What do you think you’re doing, Stark?!” Ross’s angry words came over the speaker.

“The right thing,” he responded, firing his repulsors at the defending agents. The others were in with him, taking down agents and working their way through the compound to the containment area. They moved fast, efficient, easy. Like a team. Unlike usual there were on quips or jokes, no laughing at each other or making fun of the enemy. They had one goal in mind.

Tony burst into the containment area, Clint right beside him, and his eyes fell upon the cell. A limp form lay bound still, curled up on her side. He could see her trembling faintly, the only sign she was alive. She was covered in blood.

Clint made an awful sound next to him, rushing forward. Tony had already seen this, other than the blood, but it was still difficult to look at. He blasted the cell lock, followed up by Clint’s exploding arrow which knocked it open. The shivering woman recoiled at the sound, curling up in panic, shifting on the floor. He could tell she was trying to move away, but wasn’t strong enough to.

“FRIDAY, do a scan of her injuries. Send them directly to the medical team,” he whispered directly to his suit.

There was a ding of confirmation as she began scanning, and he forced himself to ignore the array as his suit scanned the small spy’s body.

Clint walked forward slowly, gently. “Tasha?” His voice was softer than Tony had ever heard it. Tony stood back awkwardly, deciding to keep guard while Clint did his thing. Clint would probably be the safest option to get through to her. They had been through much more together than anyone else.

She shifted, and Tony flinched at the quiet, pained whimper that came from her. She almost never vocalized her pain.

“Hang on,” Clint whispered, carefully untying the hood and pulling it over her head. Tony wanted to punch someone. No, he wanted to kill someone. He wanted to find Ross and beat the bastard of a man to death with his own hands. She looked so thin and pale, jaw bones prominent, bruises of all colors across her face. And her throat. Her throat had bruises in the shape of hand prints, and deeper bruises that looked like a rope had been wrapped tightly around her neck. He wondered, horrified, if they had tightened the rope around her hood to the point she was choking, leaving her bound and helpless to suffocate. Worse was the gag in her mouth, solid metal like the one they had used on Loki. Clint’s hands shook as they moved to remove it, and it came out with the sickening rip of dried, crusted blood.

 _How long had that been on?_ He thought, horrified and disgusted.

Her eyes were open, squinting in the light. Bloodshot, glazed over with pain and panic. Her breath was coming in quick, desperate gasps, and she was shuddering in Clint’s arms from a combination of pain and fear.

“It’s okay Nat. We’ve got you. You’re coming home,” Clint spoke in that same soft, gentle voice. “ _Вы в безопасности_.” The man said in Russian. Tony did not ask for a translation, and Friday didn’t give one. She almost began to relax he thought, but then her eyes flicked to Tony in his suit, and they widened again as she began to writhe and squirm, trying to push herself away in fear.

He recoiled. Briefly he had wondered why she was afraid, and then remembered the words he had spoken so carelessly before with Ross. She had definitely heard that.

Perhaps even thought he had been happy about it.

He was going to raise his hands in a pacifying gesture, but realized that would be seen as anything but peaceful, given the repulsors built into the palms of his suit. Instead, he lowered them, and lowered the face plate, nearly choking as he was assaulted by the powerful smell of alcohol - and not the kind he liked. It burned his eyes and nose and mouth, and he wondered vaguely how Clint had not reacted to it.

“I’m here to help,” Tony said, sounding unusually docile.

She closed her eyes, making no effort to speak.

Clint shifted her, attempting to get to her metal shackles to unlock them, but as soon as he shifted her arms she jolted, crying out in pain. Her left arm was severely bruised, and he cringed as the slight bulge in it that told him there might be a break.

“FRIDAY, any critical or life threatening injuries we need to know about?” Tony asked softly. Clint and Natasha could definitely both hear him now, but neither reacted.

Clint didn’t remove his eyes from his partner, gently lying her back down.

FRIDAY was silent for a moment before speaking. Somehow, her robot voice sounded unusually subdued. “There is nothing life threatening currently. She had five broken ribs, however. Two are broken in multiple places. All are in varied states of healing, but they appear to have been broken for some time without being able to heal. Left radius is broken in one place, appears recent. She is showing symptoms of an early respiratory infection with fluid in both lungs. Mild hypothermia. Weight loss of 26 pounds since last known weight. 34% of her body has small to medium lacerations. 58% has bruising from blunt force trauma. Possible damage to her trachea from repeated strangulation.”

FRIDAY stopped, the AI’s voice somehow having sounded more angry over time.

Tony felt like he had been punched in the gut. Clint was shaking, pale, expression furious. Natasha hadn’t moved, her eyes remaining closed, although the way she was breathing made it obvious she was awake.

“We are going to remove these shackles, Nat. Then we are going home,” Clint said, his voice rough.

The spy nodded, but still did not speak. Her lips were speckled red with dried blood.

With a little effort from his 'universal' key invention, the shackles unlocked, and slid off thin wrists that were so bruised and bloodied that it was clear they had been on for an extremely long time. Next they came off her ankles, which showed the same injuries.

Tony swallowed hard.

“Tony.” Clint’s voice was hard and firm. He looked at the archer, whose entire body was tense with fury. “Get her to the Quinjet. I will jostle her too much if I carry her,” the man said, one hand tight around the bow.

Forcing his hands steady inside the suit, he nodded.

“We are getting you out of here,” he said quietly. He was scared the injured woman would break further if he touched her, but knew they had to move quickly to get her some proper medical attention. And although she shuddered at his touch, she did not make an effort to stop him. He did freeze at the hoarse, keening cry that came from her as he lifted her, but he knew, given her injuries, there was no way to pick her up without hurting her. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

He moved quickly, making sure she was as immobile as possible. “We’ve got her,” he said into the coms. “Getting her to the jet. Make sure the path is clear,” he ordered. He heard a mix of confirmations.

An agent flew by him, surrounded by red swirls, and did not get up. Wanda appeared, eyes glowing red and met his eyes and then glanced quickly at the burden in his arms. Her eyes widened, shocked and horrified. Whatever she could likely feel from Natasha’s mind was probably not going to be good.

“Destroy this place.” Tony said.

There was no argument. By the time he had her in the jet, setting her down as gently as possible onto a soft cot, trying not to cringe at her muffled, painful sounds, he could already hear the explosions and smell the smoke.

“We’re bringing you home, Nat,” he said.

Finally she opened her eyes, looking up at him with green eyes dull from pain and exhaustion. And fear.

He wanted to get her out of her blood soaked clothes. Tend to her injuries. Fix the broken bones that she had likely been dealing with for weeks. Perhaps longer. She went AWOL months ago, and he had only had occasional tidbits of information popping up that she was still around when he heard about her escaping another ambush. He wanted to hope she had only been there for weeks, but the state of her body, starved and sick and severely wounded, told him a different story.

As the team filed back into the jet, faces grim and angry, he looked back. Steve let out an awful sound, like a wounded animal, when he saw the state of her. Sam recoiled visibly. Scott, despite not really knowing her much, looked away, jaw set in horror. Rhodey’s reaction was harder to see, given he hadn’t lowered his face plate, but Tony could see the trembling of the man’s armor. His legs would shake when he got upset or stressed, and he knew this was definitely a cause for that. Vision slipped in next, the android’s eyes somehow looking solemn and sad.

Wanda flew, and the jet rose into the air, turning to let them all see the Raft and all its torture devices go up in flames, explosion, and the scarlet magic of a furious Wanda. It was a struggle to let the lifeboat get away, but even in their anger, the Avengers knew that not everyone who worked on that Raft had a hand in the torture. Having downloaded their surveillance footage thanks to Friday, they would know who to go after soon enough.

“They will regret what they did,” he muttered quietly, to the agreement of everyone on the jet as they flew home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on google translator: Вы в безопасности = you are safe.


	4. Terror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha struggles to understand she is being rescued. The team struggles to deal with not just her injuries, but her mindset as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the reviews so far! Still working on it. I'm hoping to finish writing the story itself within the next few weeks and upload it over time. I'm also working on a second story. It's a bit of a crossover of sorts, with horror elements. That's all I am going to share about it for now, since I don't want to spoil anything!
> 
> Can't seem to figure out why the end note that was supposed to be for the prologue keeps appearing in every chapter... I can't find it written anywhere, so not sure where it's coming from!

There wasn’t a single moment that went by that wasn’t punctuated by pain. She breathed, it hurt. Shifted, it hurt. Did nothing, it hurt. The punishments for refusing to cooperate had been swift and brutal. Waking up after being carved like a turkey, she was only awake for minutes before they decided to pour alcohol directly over the fresh wounds. She was fairly certain she had torn something in her throat with the screams that she was ashamed to have let out. The next time she woke, they were on her almost instantly. Kicking her on the floor as she attempted to curl up to protect her badly injured chest and stomach.

The next days – at least, what felt like days – were simply filled with bouts of being conscious as she was strangled repeatedly, by hands, by rope, and one time, what felt like a metal tube. Strangled unconscious, only to wake up later, and have it happen again, and again.

Her throat was on fire. Breathing was incredibly difficult, between her broken ribs, bruised and injured throat, and the rapidly growing sensation of congestion in her chest. She was sure it had something to do with the temperature torments, and the water boarding/shower she had experienced. She resisted coughing as much as possible, if only to spare herself the shooting shards of pain that sent colors flashing before her eyes. If it wasn’t for that, she wasn’t sure if she even remembered how colors looked. She had been in the dark for so long, seeing nothing but the blackness on the inside of the sack.

They were killing her. As slowly and inhumanely as they could. It would take months of suffering, but she knew she would die here. Because she would never give up the people she had once called, and wanted to call again, friends.

Then it changed. Alarms were going off. The sound was deafening and painful and she pressed herself into the floor as if it would make her disappear. Screaming, yelling. Loud sounds of bursting and guns rattling. Her heart was racing a frantic pace, coughing weakly as her breathing picked up along with it. Something closer exploded, and she twisted on the floor, trying to move away from the painful sound.

Something broke through the loudness around her. A soft, gentle voice. Her name. She recognized the voice. She jerked her head toward it immediately, desperate for it to be real. _Clint. Clint was here!_

Had he come to save her? She wanted to cry in relief at the thought. But also knew he could have been caught again, thrown in to suffer with her. Or she was just imagining it. But she was so desperate for something to end that she was willing to feel just a tiny bit of hope.

Hands touched her. She flinched away, gasping in panic, because when hands touched her it was immediately followed by pain, and she bit back a sob.

“Hold on,” the words said. The hands touched her again. Not hard and cruel. But gentle, soft. The hood was being pulled off for the first time in what felt like weeks, but might be even longer. Light blurred her vision. Colors exploded in her line of sight and she flinched, closing her eyes immediately as she struggled to adjust. After several attempts at blinking and opening and closing her eyes, she was able to see enough.

_Clint. Clint. CLINT!_

Her heart surged. Her eyes watered with tears. Her friend’s hands were shaking, and he looked pale and his blue eyes were sparkling with anger and sadness. But in moments, before she knew what was happening, the gag was off.

She breathed through her mouth, closing her aching, unused jaw. Her mouth and throat were so dry that it hurt, and she had no ability to speak, but it was _gone_. Even it had hurt coming off, stuck to her lips and the inside of her mouth with dried blood from weeks past. But it was most definitely gone, and she felt a wave of relief crash over her.

Still, she trembled with fear, trying to keep her eyes just on him. He spoke to her with gentle, tender care, in English and then Russian. She felt herself starting to relax.

Then her eyes flicked past him and she saw Iron Man and her heart jumped into her throat and she jolted in reflexive fear. Because he _hated_ her, and he had every reason to, and he wasn’t here to help. He was here to finish her off, she was sure of it. She tried to move, pushing herself back, but she was still shackled, and it wasn’t like she had the strength to do it anyway. Clint gently brushed his hand through her tangled, blood-matted hair, trying to soothe her.

The face plate came down, and Tony’s pale and strangely worried face told her it was okay. She didn’t know what to believe. Her eyes sought Clint, and he looked at her with warm eyes and told her, very softly, that it was okay.

And she believed him.

Pain flared in her arm as he tried to move her. She cried out, unable to stop the sound, and he let go like he had burned her. Tony asked FRIDAY for her medical scan results, and she closed her eyes, not sure she wanted to know. She tuned most of it out, only registering words such as broken, starvation, respiratory infection.

Weak.

The Red Room would have killed her themselves if they had found her like this. Pathetic, to be reduced to such a mess after all their hard work.

 _They aren’t that place,_ her mind said softly.

Clint told her they were removing the shackles. They were going home. She nodded briefly, barely reacting, tensing up to try and handle the pain that was sure to come. The shackles had been a constant part of her stay here, and had dug into her wrists brutally, tightening with every attempt to struggle out of them. They came off hard, leaving a bloodied mess behind on both her wrists and ankles. She sagged slightly. They were gone. All of it was gone, and what was left was just her broken body and prison clothes.

Clint asked Tony to carry her out. She stiffened. Then forced herself to relax again. It was a tactical decision. She wouldn’t have to feel the painful jolting of walking or tripping or stumbling. Just a smooth glide.

Her body seized with pain as she was lifted. She nearly choked herself trying to stop a coughing fit in its tracks. She could practically feel Tony vibrating with anxiety in his suit, the trembling very clear for her sensitive body. She kept her eyes squeezed tightly shut, not wanting to see the faces of everyone she knew and cared about. Not wanting to see their pity.

Sounds faded behind her. It was quieter. More soothing. She breathed in the smell of salt water and fresh air, and nearly cried again, realizing how much she had missed such a simple thing.

She cried out again when she was set down. And oh, it was soft. What was likely a thin cot beneath her instead felt like a pillow, soothing her stiff, painful body. Was this what it felt like, to lie on something other than hard, cold concrete?

“We’re bring you home, Nat,” Tony said, consolingly, and she finally forced her eyes open. He looked at her not with pity, but compassion. And he would know all about it. Of course he would. He had been held for a long time in Afghanistan, tortured and forced to cater to the will of horrible people. Perhaps he even understood her relief now, to lay on something soft – to be able to see and move, even if physically she had trouble doing everything. But now, the ability was there. She just needed to reach it.

Others filed into the jet. She was shocked. Almost everyone was here. It didn’t matter what team they were on, or who they were fighting for back at the airport. Steve, Sam, Clint, Scott, Tony, Rhodey, Wanda, Vision – all of them except the kid Stark had brought in.

It was good he had not brought the kid to this. No kid deserved to see what had happened.

She found her eyes closing, despite her efforts to stay awake. Something in her had calmed. Her team was here. She was safe, and the next time she woke, it wouldn’t be to an ethanol bath, or a hand around her throat, or a fist grinding her broken ribs to dust. It would be to her family being around her.

And for once, she trusted someone else enough to let go.

* * *

It was decided, with little to no argument, that Sam would be the one to check her over on the quinjet to get a better look at what was going on that couldn’t be picked up by a scan. His history as a pararescuer meant he had the experience with first aid and treating injuries in the field that others didn’t have – although most Avengers could get by at this point on their own.

He approached carefully, nervous of what he would find. Clint was huddled up at the head of the cot, wrapped around her so he could continue to gently stroke her hair. If he hadn’t known better he would have thought they were in a romantic relationship. Instead, it was more like an older brother caring for a younger sister. Natasha had always seemed like a slightly scary, but fierce badass to him. Every time he saw her she was either kicking someone’s ass or threatening to. She could also make a good joke. And while they may have had a few slight… disagreements, especially before their little airport escapade, he had always liked her.

To see her now, lying limp and bruised and bloody on a cot made him nervous. It was definitely effecting the other members of the team as well, and he knew it would only get worse when he got to see what was underneath.

Underneath the blood soaked, alcohol-reeking clothes.

He had a guess about why she reeked of rubbing alcohol or ethanol, but he really didn’t want to put much thought into it given how horrific the idea was. Like putting hand sanitizer on an open cut.

She looked thin and ragged. Her wrists, visible, were heavily bruised and deep lacerations clotted with dried blood marred the skin from bindings that were too tight, and left on far too long. The bruising on her throat was also severe, but he wouldn’t be able to tell how much damage was there until she was conscious and attempting to speak. The fact she hadn’t even attempted to speak at all while conscious earlier was worrying, but also not unusual. She had been through a lot.

There was bruising on her face, but none of it seemed too bad. He doubted there was any broken bones. He moved his hand to her shirt, looking at Clint as if for permission. The archer nodded, face drawn in sorrow.

Pulling up her shirt, he let out a string of curses. As did some of the team behind him. Her abdomen and torso are completely covered in bright red cuts and bruises. Some of the cuts are still sluggishly bleeding. The bruises are all sorts of colors, from black and green to blue and purple. Despite everything he can clearly see each and every rib, and he knows if he turned her over, he would clearly be able to see her spine jutting out. She was always rather tiny, but not unhealthily. Perhaps ‘fit’ was a better description to her usual size.

“She has lost a lot of muscle mass,” he said out loud, forcing himself to look beyond the horrific looking wounds.

“FRIDAY said she has lost 26 pounds since last known weight,” Tony said, very subdued and looking like he wanted to go walk head first into a fridge of alcohol. Sam was thinking he might want to do that too if he wanted to get these horrible sights out of his head.

“She didn’t even have 26 pounds to lose,” he responded, shaking his head. The bastards had _starved_ her.

The wounds looked clean. He grimaced, knowing the reason why and wishing he didn’t. He gently pressed on her ribs, trying to feel in between cuts and lacerations. Immediately the unconscious woman stirred, breath hitching, as his fingers ran across clear breaks and fractures.

Fortunately she didn’t wake all the way up, although he soon realized her breathing was still off. He moved his head down, listening closer, not having a stethoscope on him. While faint, he could hear the slightest sound of wheezing, and the rattling that meant there was fluid built up in the lungs. Whether that was blood or something else, he couldn’t tell from here.

“FRIDAY mentioned she has the early signs of a respiratory infection,” Tony spoke up, as if deducing what Sam was listening to.

Clint, already frowning, seemed to frown a little harder at that.

“We need to focus on that. She almost never gets sick. When she does, it’s bad,” Clint said. And although his eyes were clear, his voice sounded hoarse.

There was a pause. “Now that you mention it… I’ve never seen her get sick,” Steve mumbled.

Clint seemed torn between explaining and keeping what was probably private information safe. Natasha’s file was notably so full of holes and confidentiality that very little was actually in it, except what was immediately important about her skills and work.

“I’ll wrap what I can here and figure out more when we get to a medical facility,” Sam said in the end, to the acknowledgement of everyone on the jet. 


	5. Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team learns a few things about Natasha. Natasha struggles to believe she is safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is a bit late! It has been a very busy couple of days. Again, thanks everyone who left comments and kudos, I'm glad people are enjoying my work!

Clint did what he did best: he watched.

Watched as Sam carefully began to stem the bleeding from every active cut on her torso. Watched as he wrapped her ribs. Watched as she shifted restlessly in unconsciousness, shivering, wheezing, and occasionally coughing. Watched the team as they tried to figure out how they could help, or otherwise just stayed out of the way and looked miserable. Clint tried to force the memories of her reacting to sound and touch and light and even Tony away, but he found it very difficult to do.

He longed to tie Ross up and turn his body into a living pin cushion, from head to toe with arrows – toes first, of course.

But first, he needed to watch over his friend, whose body was skin and bones, cuts and bruises, broken and bleeding. She shivered constantly, although there was sweat on her forehead. Her pain was apparent with every reflexive response she gave to being touched, and they hadn’t even scratched the _surface_ on what was ailing her. As soon as they arrived at the Compound, which Tony had put on lockdown upon arrival with strict orders to keep an eye out for official activity, Clint jumped up. The first step was to get her to the treatment area, but he also knew he had to tell them some of the things that were not on her files, for her sake. She would not appreciate him sharing certain things, but it was to potentially save her life, or avoid some confusion later on.

Clint had been forced to leave her side when the doctors went in to get to work, and now he found himself pacing again, angry, scared, horrified and vengeful. _Ross will die for this,_ he thought to himself, over and over.

“Clint.”

He continued to pace, desperately wanting to go and hunt down some assholes from the Raft but also not wanting to leave in case she woke up in a panic and hurt someone – or herself.

“Clint!”

He jolted as a hand grabbed his arm. He spun, launching a punch immediately that was barely dodged by a startled Tony. The archer froze, realizing the entire team was gathered and he had not been paying any attention to them. He had nearly punched Tony – and while he might have been happy about punching him a couple months ago, his perspective had shifted significantly since then.

He took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. “I’m sorry.”

“Save that for the assholes who did this,” Wilson said, glaring at the wall angrily.

“Don’t worry… I have plenty left for them,” Clint said darkly, fingers twitching reflexively as if he was holding a bow, ready to shoot some arrows.

“Clint,” Tony spoke less loudly but more sternly. “The doctors need to know anything important about her immune system. They also need permission to run… uh.” It was strange to see the man stammering when he spoke, and Clint could already guess the remainder of that sentence. “Tests for STD’s or sexual assault,” Stark finished.

Wanda made a muffled sound.

Clint just stared straight ahead for another moment, before he walked backwards and dropped into a chair in frustration.

“Nothing I say leaves this room. You don’t tell anyone. Even if they’re one of us, unless I tell them or Nat tells them. There’s a reason this isn’t on her files,” his no-nonsense tone apparently was scary, because everyone suddenly straightened up, looking alert and possibly even more uncomfortable than they had several minutes prior.

He looked at each of them, making sure everyone understood. “FRIDAY, delete everything following this message until our conversation is over,” Tony said.

The AI confirmed.

Clint dragged his fingers through his hair, frustrated and hoping Nat didn’t wake up and come kick his ass when she learned he had told the team some of the things she didn’t like people to know. She always thought it made her look weak, or less than, or confirmed that she was just a monster among the team. As if it was her fault these things had been done to her without her consent, as opposed to horrific experimentation.

“The Red Room was very thorough with their training program. Having their trainees be down for days or weeks at a time because of illness would be a nuisance. So they experimented a little.” _A little_ being the understatement of the year. “Some DNA experiments. Drug experiments. Messing with DNA. Killed dozens of girls before they found a good result. But there were always more out there. Steal them from orphanages, off the streets, or murder an entire family to kidnap their child…” He trailed off, ignoring some horrified looks. “They were pumped full of special drugs that killed 70% of them. The survivors were then exposed to some pretty awful bugs, but never got sick. Was almost like they became immune to most of the things that infect and kill the rest of our species,” he said.

“70%?” Rhodey asked, disbelieving.

Clint nodded. “The 30% that survived wished they hadn’t. There’s a reason it never grew to be some miracle drug. Organ damage, skin lesions, blood clots, hemorrhaging. The ones who died often died choking to death on their own blood. It took four months for the survivors to actually recover from it,” he said.

Hate. He hated the red room, not just for what it had done to Nat, but to so many other girls and women who had done nothing to deserve it. They had not wanted to be there. They had been forced to join and do horrible things to survive.

“The problem with the drug is while they were immune to about everything, they stopped developing normal antibodies to deal with these things. Their bodies no longer knew how to fight infections or diseases, because they never got sick. Yeah, they’re okay most of the time, and never catch anything.. but when something finally gets through, a simple cold could be deadly.”

Vision blinked slowly. “So pneumonia would be very serious even with treatment.”

Clint nodded. Felt that overwhelming urge to punch someone again.

“We need to hope like hell it’s bacterial and put her on the strongest antibiotics we have,” Clint said, massaging his temples.

“We can do that,” Tony said confidently.

Clint had definitely missed _that_ kind of confidence. Not the hopeful, almost naive confidence that Cap had, believing everything would be okay just because he waned it to be… but knowing they could do it because they had the resources, the money, and the scientific genius to accomplish these things without a second thought.

Clint sighed. “For the other thing… they can test for STDs and check for any internal damage. I don’t know how those work with her immune system. The Red Room was very sterile about those kinds of things, if you didn’t look at all the bloodstains.”

He might have spoken too freely. Tony connected the dots almost immediately. Face set in stone, muscles tensing. Rhodey and Wilson picked up on it soon after. Vision was naive, not understanding. Wanda might have understood but she might be trying to suppress it. Scott had very much checked out of the conversation after talking about the effects of the drug, probably thinking about his own little girl, and the idea of his child being forced to be a test subject for various chemials.

“Should we run a pregnancy test?” Tony asked softly.

Clint grimaced. He had wished he could have kept that one detail a secret.

“No need. The last step to becoming a black widow was surgery to remove all reproductive organs. They don't want their prized assassins getting distracted with pregnancy,” Clint stared off into nothing as he spoke, remembering the hollow look in Nat’s eyes when she had told him that, how she was damaged and could never have a place in the world because of what they had made her.

“That’s fucked up,” Rhodey growled.

Clint didn’t even look at him, still gazing blankly at a wall, trying to channel in all his anger and sadness. “It gets so much worse.”

No one asked for clarification.

* * *

Consciousness was fluttering in and out. Every time she reached out for it, trying to pull herself out of the darkness into awareness, it slipped just out of reach. At times she thought she heard voices. Other times, she felt pain. She was used to both. More so the pain than the voices, but at least she could feel something, which meant she was still alive.

She drifted for a long time, just out of reach of consciousness. Then one time, she managed to force her eyes open, blinking painfully into the light. She swore the light burned into her retinas, but it was still better for her eyes to burn than to see nothing.

She took a deep breath. Regretted it when she broke into a deep, painful coughing fit that had her doubling over. The movement woke blazing pain across her entire body, and the previous beatings swarmed into her memory. Her heart began to race as her mind fully woke up, and she started to struggle, trying to get up and move. It could have all been a dream. A dream of rescue. Her painful, gasping breaths made it hard to focus on anything beyond the panic, and she knew she was sick. She had not been sick in almost 10 years, and she struggled to clear the thickness in her chest.

“Nat! Nat, hey. You’re okay,” a voice said. She moved her eyes towards it, recognizing a blurry Clint as he entered the room. She stared at him, frantic and struggling to piece together the fact he was here, while the nervous, paranoid side of her was panicking that he wasn’t really here, or that she was still on the Raft and they were trying out a new tactic on her mind.

Her breath hitched again, and she coughed, raising a bandaged wrist to her painful neck, not taking her eyes off him for a moment. Her body was tense, posed to flee, even if she knew attempting to stand would just send her crashing to the floor.

Her rasping, hoarse croak of a voice when she tried to speak prevented her from saying anything at all. Her throat was too dry, too injured from repeated bouts of strangulation. She grimaced, raising shaking hands and struggling to sign with her throbbing wrists interfering with every movement, as well as the broken forearm making it difficult to move certain fingers. _Where am I?_

Clint sat in a chair next to her, looking tired as her vision cleared when he came closer. “You’re at the compound. You’re safe. They can’t hurt you,” he said.

She continued to stare at him uncertainly. He reached out to her slowly, as if to touch her. She flinched back automatically, heart jolting painfully in her chest. Touch meant pain. Even if the hand it belonged to was someone she loved.

He immediately withdrew, looking crestfallen.

“I promise this is real,” he said softly.

She signed back _I want to believe that._

Again, she was struck by a heavy, painful fit of coughing that made her chest spasm with pain. She shuddered from the effort it took to control it and breath normally, struggling to hold back groans of pain from her aching chest.

When she next was able to see Clint, he looked like he wanted to cry. “Can I touch you?” He asked in a voice that sounded seconds away from cracking.

She was shaking again. Heart racing. Every touch she had felt had been for the purpose of causing pain. But this was Clint. Clint wouldn’t hurt her. She knew that, logically, so why was she still so scared? She forced herself to nod, still struggling against a growing wave of panic.

She clenched her jaw, forcing herself not to flinch as he slowly, gently reached out. As his fingers brushed her face gently, she held her breath. No pain followed. Slowly she allowed herself to relax, gazing up at him. She fought the urge to cry as she reached up, grabbing his arm in her hand, squeezing it as much as she could just to assure herself that this was _real_ and he was here. His arm was solid. The tears ignored her wishes and came down anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a whole lot of mixed ideas/variations of Black Widow's abilities, training, and what they went through to become assassins. In this specific fic I'm just going with the MCU knowns - enhanced immunity, drug resistance and forced sterilization. While having some super soldier variation to increase their strength, speed, hearing and sight, as well as add some sort of healing factor is cool and all, in this story for the sake of continuity (and whump), she is basically completely human. 
> 
> Also I might be stretching the laws of nature (and the immune system) in general with how her immune system works. But I am fully abiding by the laws of whump.


	6. Evidence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team must go over the footage captured from the Raft if they are going to find out what happened, as well as who to go after next.

Later, after she broke down crying in between fits of coughing and random bursts of full on panic, she finally fell back unconscious, and Clint rolled himself out of the hospital bed he had climbed in to calm her and rubbed at his eyes, frustrated. Sick with anger, frustration, hatred, grief… he didn’t know how to sort out his mess of emotions, so, after making sure she was definitely unconscious and would sleep for awhile, he got up and left the room. He found himself back in a conference room, with everyone else, not quite sure how he even got there.

He crumbled down in an empty chair, not really interested in talking to anyone. Everyone seemed to be feeling the exact same way, because no one asked him any questions. In fact, it was pretty quiet for awhile. Up until he finally decided he had to ask something just because it could become a problem later.

“Anything from Ross?” He said finally, rubbing at his eyes, and then scratching at his hair.

“Just a message telling me what a big mistake I’ve made. Not that he can do anything with all of us here. He’d be an idiot to try,” Tony responded, voice cold at the very mention of Ross.

Back to silence.

They needed answers. What had been done. How long she had been there. But Natasha clearly couldn’t speak with the amount of damage done to her throat, not to mention she was extremely unfocused and all over the place. They had another source to get the information, but no one wanted to do it just yet. It didn’t just feel like a massive invasion of privacy, but there were things that Clint and the rest of the team just didn’t _want_ to see.

But the sooner they knew.. the sooner they could figure out how to help.

* * *

Tony did not want to do this. Truly did not want to go through both the files and the surveillance camera footage. Both of which hew knew had to be taken care of and sent to the right people to turn not just public outrage on Ross, but also outrage from the governments of the world. They might not be popular with a lot of people right now but most of the world was not very comfortable with torture. Add on to it that she was just human, and not even an _enhanced_ human, or god, or something with superpowers, and that would open a whole can of human rights issues

Her past as an assassin and spy and the things she had done – which had been public for a few years – wouldn’t do her many favors, but the fact she was an Avenger and had saved the world several times with them definitely stood for something.

“FRIDAY, pull up all files related to capturing the Black Widow,” Tony said.

She had been on the run for awhile. But he didn’t know when she had been captured.

Several files opened up, listened in order of date uploaded. The first was from just over four months ago, immediately following the civil war. It was a warrant for her capture.

More files came up with lists of locations she had been found. There were nine reports. Most of them ended in the task force assigned to capture her getting their asses kicked or her slipping away. The second to last ended with a side note: _subject sustained gunshot wound to the left hip._ It was dated for two and a half months ago. Eight failed attempts in just over a month and a half. But she was injured. Injured and alone, for the next attempt not even two weeks later.

More men taken down. Seven were injured in the last attempt to take her in, despite the bullet wound. Tony wanted to feel proud of her skills for that, but it was the next few lines of the report that made him recoil and hate everyone who had been a part of this.

 _Subject forcibly captured by way of electric netting and tasers_.

What a bunch of bastards.

He rubbed at his eyes, breathing deeply to calm himself. “Two months,” he said aloud, voice wavering. “That’s how long they had her.”

He knew the surveillance would be worse. He just didn’t know _how_ much worse.

The first surveillance footage he checked was dated one day after her capture. It wasn’t until 1 pm when there was finally movement, as heavily armored guards dragged her unconscious form and dumped her unceremoniously on the floor. She was not bound or gagged this time. He had FRIDAY automatically skip periods of no movement. It was about three hours before she stirred on the floor, finally waking up from what was likely drugs to keep her out. And for three more hours, she does nothing but lay on that floor, barely moving. Tony frowned. What had they drugged her with?

A man enters the room. He was huge – a hulking beast of a man, truly.

“Seems you aren’t as resistant to sedatives as we thought,” the man said, stepping closer. And Natasha exploded up like the ninja she was, nailing the man directly between the legs. She had faked her weakness, of course. And after tripping the large man darted past him and out of the cell. Two more guards raised their guns, but she punched one directly in the face, ducked a bullet or dart, and threw the falling guards weapon on the second guy, sending him falling to the floor. Then she was gone, out of the view of the camera, likely attempting to find a place to hide or escape. But with the prison being underwater, escape was probably not so likely.

Tony had not been able to get _all_ the surveillance cameras around the Raft, so for the next 12 hours the recording skipped ahead.

Then she was dragged back, this time, with her wrists and ankles in shackles. She was mostly limp, clearly struggling with consciousness. He couldn’t see if she was injured, given the angle of the camera, but the way she winced when they threw her to the floor meant she probably was.

The big man from earlier entered the cell. Angry about being kicked in the jewels, most likely. The next ten minutes were the worst thing he had watched so far, and he found himself turning away as the man beat her viciously, the sound of full strength punches and kicks very audible in the recordings. In all the time he had seen her fighting, it was always her dodging hits, getting out of the way, and then debilitating the enemy by finding their weak spots and exploiting them. She wasn’t _made_ to get punched and kicked. She wasn’t big or strong and durable like Steve and Thor, and didn’t have armor like him, and wasn’t an android. She didn’t have magic to protect herself. She relied on her mobility and dodging ability to get out of the way, and this wasn’t an option here.

Tony was fairly sure he was going to be sick, as he glanced up and watched the big man pick up a barely conscious Natasha by her neck, snarling in her face. Then he slammed her head against the metal bars – once, twice.. a third time. She was completely limp, fresh blood streaking the side of her face that the camera could see. At long last he dropped her, and she crumpled to the ground. He left the cell, and the door closed and locked behind him.

The recording for the next 8 hours of that day picked up nothing but a growing puddle of blood around her head from the head injury. Until, finally, someone entered it, only to lift her up enough to pull that damned sack over her head, tying it behind her neck with rope so she wouldn’t be able to get to it with her thick shackles to untie it herself.

He closed his eyes, his legs feeling weak just from watching this horrific recording. This had only been the first… two days… of what would be two months of captivity. He had an awful feeling that the shackles and hood did not come off for a single moment for the entire rest of the time, based on the state of her wrists and ankles and the difficulty she had with light. And honestly, he wasn’t sure he would be able to get through any of this without losing his mind completely, or leveling a small council building out in Washington when a certain asshole showed up.

He paused everything, needing to _get out_ of the room before he lost something. His mind. His lunch. His heart was racing painfully in his chest and he needed to go somewhere else. Somewhere these videos weren’t. Somewhere Steve wasn’t. He still wasn’t okay, but he _understood._

“Need a minute,” was all he managed to mumble as he all but fled the room.

And if he found himself automatically walking to the hospital room of a certain critically ill and injured spy, no one would say anything about it.

She looked small and frail in the hospital bed, her skin nearly as pale as the sheets. While she was the smallest member of the team, even shorter than Wanda, she had never really seemed _weak_ to him. Mainly because she had the skill and ability to kick his ass if he was out of his suit. Her agility and fighting ability had always been on the high end, and she rarely got hurt in most of their fights. A little bruised now and again, but never badly.

The image of a strong burly man beating her bound form flashed through his mind. He couldn’t imagine doing that to someone. He wondered just how strong he could make the repulsers without killing the guy immediately, just so the man felt some pain before he died.

It was deserved.

She broke into a coughing fit, still unconscious. The infection was spreading rapidly, as Clint had warned them. While she was on the strongest antibiotics they could get her on safely, given her condition, it would take some time before anything would help. The doctors had put the oxygen mask down over her face to help her oxygen levels stay normal.

In the back of his head he wondered if they had not rescued her when they did, if she would have died from pneumonia on the Raft because they didn’t know her immune system oddity.

He forced himself to calm down. She was alive. She was on an IV for both nutrients and fluids given how malnourished and dehydrated she was. They had to get her weight up, probably get her some very long and painful physical therapy to rebuild her strength and counter the muscular atrophy she had suffered. Her bones were set properly, ribs pinned back in place where they should be. Cuts were clean. She was on antibiotics, decongestants, and painkillers. She would be okay.

Physically.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Thank you all so much for the reviews and comments! There will definitely be a final 'showdown' with Ross, so to speak. I hope to make it very rewarding after everything that has happened so far. Hope everyone is doing good with everything in their lives and are safe and healthy!


	7. Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wanda tries to console a friend. Natasha isn't sure she's worth it. Some things are hard to control.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: some sexual assault in this chapter, in the form of groping (towards the end)

The next time Natasha woke up, she felt physically awful, but mentally and emotionally clearer than she had before her breakdown. She had a vague recollection of breaking down into tears, frustrated and hurt and exhausted, unable to continue holding it all in anymore now that she was safe with Clint. She remembered him moving closer, wrapping his arms around her so gently, as if he was holding glass instead of a person. Given her injuries, he might as well have been, and she had not felt ashamed about it either. She had simply buried her face into his chest, sobbing and coughing and struggling with something as basic as breathing until she fell asleep.

It wouldn’t be the first time she had done that. She wished it would be the last, but she had no idea what the future would hold. Struggling to full wakefulness, she took a breath, relieved when she didn’t immediately cough it out. Her chest was still on fire, and her throat ached, and she still felt the overwhelming need to cough – but it was all slightly better.

Eyes drifting open, she had the instinctive feeling that she was not alone. She turned her head to the side, seeing Wanda in the chair that Clint had been in the last time she was awake. She blinked tiredly at the woman, who was mostly looking down at her own hands, clearly looking uncomfortable and upset. It was jarring to both be back at the compound, and also seeing her old team mates again. It had been many months at least since she had seen any of them.

Her heart jolted, remembering seeing nothing but darkness, wishing she could see the faces of her team. Just to be with them one last time before she was killed.

Wanda flinched, as if struck, and Natasha knew her brief flash of panic had definitely made it out to the woman. Normally she was more in control of her emotions, able to keep them at bay and keep the walls up, if only so a certain woman with telepathic abilities wouldn’t pick up on them. But after what she had been through, the walls had all come down, and she had been left with nothing but pain and emotion for so long. It would take time for her to pull those walls back up, to be able to keep her feelings at bay and protect those around her that were sensitive to them.

“Hey,” was all Wanda said, with a clearly forced smile that did not reach her eyes. Eyes that were clearly filled with sorrow and stress, and Natasha felt guilty for being the cause of that. If she had only fought harder, she would never have been captured in the first place.

“I..” trying to speak had been a mistake. Her throat felt torn with pain. Her chest throbbed. She broke into a fit of coughing that nearly sent her back into unconsciousness. She wheezed, trying to get her breathing back under control, her broken arm wrapped around her aching chest as she brought her other up to try to, unsuccessfully, massage at her burning throat.

_Ow._

Wanda had nearly jumped to her feet, looking over her with a combination of concern and panic. She could feel the gentle probing at her mind, attempting to help her, and she flinched.

 _You don’t want to see what’s in my mind,_ she thought loudly, knowing Wanda would hear it. She couldn’t sign to Wanda, as she didn’t know sign language like Clint did. Her only means of effective communication was to think, loudly enough that her thoughts would be easily heard by the woman.

“I can help you,” Wanda responded softly, looking sad.

Natasha grimaced, automatically curling in on herself. No one could help her. She was a lost cause, a spy too injured to help herself.

 _I don’t want you to get hurt,_ she thought.

Wanda’s eyes flashed, and there was a hint of anger in the woman’s eyes. “The only one that’s going to be hurt now are those bastards that work with Ross… and Ross himself,” the witch snarled. Natasha almost smiled, seeing that protective anger. It warmed some of the cold fear and anguish that was settled deep inside her chest. She hadn’t known how much she had needed and missed that kind of protectiveness until now.

She shuddered as she took a deep breath. _How long has it been?_ She had had no way of keeping track of time. Occasionally she had been given food or water. She was beaten frequently, but had no way of knowing if the beatings were hours or days apart. There had been no clock, even if she could have seen one. No schedule of guards changing. Just randomness, designed to keep her from tracking the time herself, to keep her uncomfortable and uncertain for the entirety of her captivity.

“Two months since they had you,” Wanda whispered.

Two months. She closed her eyes, realizing it had been longer than she had hoped, but shorter than it had felt. It had felt like years. But captivity would do that. It would warp your concept of time, make you think each minute was hours. Pain made everything last longer.

Her eyes were watering. She forced them to stop. She didn’t want to cry in front of another person. Crying in front of Clint, who she had cried in front of before, was one thing. Crying in front of Wanda, or anyone else on the team? That was too much. She couldn’t handle it. She was weak enough. Compromised enough. She couldn’t stand to be around herself while she was so weak. How could they stand to be around her?

She was tired. Tired of holding her feelings back, while also being tired in general from months of sleep deprivation and torture. No amount of sleep seemed to be enough.

She still shuddered, desperate and panicked and weak, as she tried to breath.

“It’s okay, it’s safe,” Wanda whispered sadly.

Her eyes slipped shut. She slept again. Her nightmares and flashbacks chased her.

* * *

Wanda was nervous as the red-haired spy fell back into unconsciousness. She had felt so many thoughts racing through the woman’s mind, unhindered, and it had been jarring. Natasha had always been very in control of her thoughts and emotion, keeping Wanda from being able to accidentally hear or notice things going through her head. But now it was almost as if all her protective walls had been demolished. As if her mind had been unmade, and she had lost her ability to keep control over it. Even drunk Tony was able to keep more thoughts under control, and that was saying something. She had never quite been able to be around a drunk Tony, because his thoughts were insane and confusing and _loud_.

Wanda wasn’t sure why she had come here. She had been too horrified and angry and upset by everything she had seen on both video and the medical reports to risk coming here and causing issues with her mind. But after seeing the recording, she had needed to convince herself that her friend was okay.

Maybe not physically.. and definitely not emotionally. But she was alive.

The woman was sick, covered in bruises and cuts, and had more broken bones at the same time than Wanda had ever had spread out over her entire life. She was entirely helpless, which was not something she had ever considered the assassin. All of it made Wanda feel extremely protective, wanting nothing more than to storm into the capitol, find Ross, and destroy him slowly and painfully from the inside out. A sentiment that was shared by every member of the regrouped Avengers.

It was no surprise when the unconscious woman began to squirm and mutter and cry out softly in her sleep. No doubt, she was being overwhelmed by all kinds of nightmares and flashbacks, struggling to recover from the previous two months. They had only watched a handful of recordings. Basically, the first week of her time on the Raft. It had been horrific and brutal, watching a massive, muscular man using his full strength to beat the small, bound spy to the point that she didn’t wake up for almost 16 hours. Natasha was _lucky_ to be alive, even if in her thoughts she almost seemed like she would be happier to be dead.

Wanda wanted to reach out to her, to gently pry the nightmares from her mind so the woman could fall into a deep and restful sleep, undisturbed. What she wasn’t prepared for was getting swallowed up in the nightmare, seeing it as if it was her own, and getting too overwhelmed by it to react quickly enough to stop it.

_She couldn’t see. Cold metal was in her mouth. Her jaw ached. Her chest was on fire. Muscles aching with a need to move. Loud noise. She flinched as heavy boots stomped toward her. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t escape. Cruel laughter, followed by a heavy stomp directly on her abdomen, knocking the breath right out of her and making her empty stomach cramp painfully._

“ _Shame we can’t see your pretty face,” a voice said, laughing. “It’s more fun that way.”_

_A heavy weight dropped down on her. She flinched, but couldn’t stop it. Hands groped at her breasts, rough and painful. She jerks at that, trying to shove them away with her bound hands. A fist slams into her cheek, and lights explode behind her eyes._

_She goes limp, dazed and struggling to think through the pounding headache._

“ _You’re so beautiful all covered in bruises,” the man tells her, then laughs again at his own, pathetic joke. Her stomach churns with nausea._

_Doesn’t want it._

_Part of her wonders if it was better than getting beaten senseless._

_It wouldn’t be the first time._

_More squeezing. She winces uncomfortably, trying to recoil mentally from the touch. Better this than something worse, something more physical._

_The thought doesn’t ease her fear. She’s drowning in it. Breaths coming in and out fast, but she barely has any air. She wants him_ off. _Wants him away from her. She hates how he tenderly brushes at her skin in between squeezing her breasts, as if in some mock sensation of love. This wasn’t love._

_Tears pricked her eyes._

_Who could love a broken thing like her?_

Wanda recoils from the painful thoughts and memory so hard, she nearly gives herself whiplash, slamming back into her chair and falling right out of it.

Gasping for air, she shudders as she struggles to separate Natasha’s memory from her own mind. Then she’s up, using her powers as carefully as possible to send the spy into a deep, dreamless sleep, before fleeing the medical room, before they tears could start falling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The angst train is going to continue for awhile. I am still working on writing this story. I am hoping to get back into the action soon, but it seems I have to work through a lot of character angst before we will get there. But we will get there!
> 
> Hope you are all doing good, staying safe, and healthy, wherever you are out there.


	8. Rage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve deals with his feelings, and comes to a startling realization.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do want to get a chapter with at least every character, but each chapter I write is based on the situation at hand and I just pick whichever character I think fits best which is why some haven't had their own POV yet.. hopefully I'll get to them!

There had only been a handful of moments in Steve’s life where he had actually thought he _wanted_ to kill someone. Years ago (to him, to the world it was nearly a century ago) he had told a man that he hated bullies, and he didn’t care where they came from. Killing wasn’t his goal. Saving people was. If he had to kill people to protect innocents, he would do it, but the killing itself was not what he sought. He did not seek to cause someone pain, or make them suffer until death. He had always just wanted to stop them from hurting others.

The Red Skull was his first exception. A person – or more accurately, a _thing_ – that made so many people suffer and die, just to save itself. When he saw Bucky fall from that cliff, to what he had thought was his death – something had snapped.

He had wanted to _kill_ Red Skull. Not just to stop it. But to get revenge. He wanted to enjoy it.

The thought had scared him at the time.

Then HYDRA in SHIELD happened, and a man he thought had been an ally and team mate had been a traitor. Rumlow was a termite infestation, that simply kept coming back and growing everywhere no one wanted to see him. Killing innocents, murdering peace keepers around the world, and making grabs at biological weapons he could release on large populations. Steve had _wanted_ to kill the man for a long time, only for the traitor to blow himself up, kick-starting what he considered the worst event for the Avengers. One that, he recognized, could have been mostly averted if he had come clean to Tony years ago.

Steve rubbed at his eyes, emotional turmoil practically making him sick. There was a new name on his list of people he _wanted_ to kill.

Secretary Ross.

He had never seen her so badly hurt. So shaken, scared, and weak. Two months of torture was what it took. Two months of her being on the run, followed by two more months on the Raft, making the straight jacket and collar they had forced Wanda to wear look like a pacifier in comparison. Guilt was gnawing at him. While he had not known she had been taken, he still should have been watching out for her, ready to jump in and protect her when things went bad. Instead, they had simply been waiting in Wakanda, hiding away while she had been struggling to survive.

They had watched a series of surveillance videos, all of which proceeded to get worse and worse. Watched her struggle to move in a growing pool of blood, occasionally being given water or small bits of food. Watched as she, finally recovered from what must have been a significant concussion, bit a man who tried to feed her, almost biting the finger clean off.

There was no sense of victory in that, considering she was beaten brutally into the floor, unable to fight back or resist in any way. After she was unconscious they had brought in the gag.

They didn’t bring her food for a week after. Only when she was too weak to move at all did they come back. It was another week before Ross finally showed up in a recording. Even on camera, the smugness on his face was palpable. The self important way he walked into the cell, knowing he had won. He knew she couldn’t do anything to him. Even if she hadn’t been kicked and punched half into a coma, she was bound and starved and too weak to stand on her own.

Steve shook with rage.

It was something he had never been able to understand. Men like Ross, taking pleasure in another person’s torment. He should have done something. He knew Ross had an extreme dislike of Natasha, even when she had been _on his side._ Perhaps it was the way she stood her ground and refused to do what he asked. How she always seemed to find her own answers, her own path, and was not at all interested in dealing with government bureaucracy. Or maybe Ross just didn’t like the fact that a woman like her would be able to kick his ass without breaking a sweat in an ordinary situation? It didn’t matter, really. Steve should have known. Should have looked for her, or gotten her out of the country into a safe place as soon as he knew she had been on the run.

They had expected Ross to simply rub it in like the pretentious prick he was. And he did. And she ignored him. Remained curled up in a ball on the floor of the cell, motionless and not even making a noise – it wasn’t as if she could speak.

Her lack of a response pissed him off, quite clearly. A moment later he stepped closer to her, before driving his shoe into her side, rolling her onto her back. They had only been able to watch as the secretary stomped down hard on her chest, clearly winding her, while pressing down hard to keep her pinned on her back.

“You will give us what I ask. I promise you that,” Ross had said, his angry voice distorting slightly on the camera microphone. He had then knelt down, clearly putting all his weight on the leg he had on her chest, judging by the way she writhed under him and seemed unable to breath. Suffocating beneath his weight. Steve nearly broke his hand punching a wall, although by now his serum had healed away the bruise.

The recordings only got worse. They had watched, horrified, as Ross pulled a long, sharp blade from his coat, and began to slide the blade across her torso, leaving long bleeding lines over her bruised skin, all the while she struggled to draw a breath.

Only when she went limp did the man finally let off, leaving her bloodied and unconscious on the floor of the cell.

Steve had been surprised, having always expected Ross to be the kind of man that made _others_ do the dirty work. He hadn’t expected to see the Secretary directly involved in the torture himself. It only served to fuel their resolve to hunt him down and make him pay for what he had done. And if the glimmer in Tony’s eyes was anything to go by, there was definitely something the billionaire was planning to do.

With all the rage coursing through his veins, it was difficult for him to get out of the room and walk down the hall. He hadn’t seen her since they had taken her in after getting her off the quinjet, mainly because he knew he was useless to help there, and didn’t want to get in the way. And also because he was so angry.

But now, with horrific images playing in his mind, and knowing she was awake in random fits and bursts, he knew it was time to go to her.

To him, she had never looked more frail. Petite, sure. When he had lifted her unconscious form out of the wreckage of of the bombed camp, she had looked very small in his arms. But she had bounced back quickly, up on her feet as soon as she regained consciousness. Later on, even when she had been shot she was quick to recover, once she was no longer actively bleeding out. The strangest thing about it all was that she wasn’t super. She had no serum, or quick healing, or increased durability. All of her strength and endurance came from her past, and all of the experience she had.

Experience getting hurt.

Her skin was pale. Just a few shades darker than her white hospital sheets. Her unnatural thinness stood out, and was difficult to ignore. Fortunately she had nutrient IVs to help her put weight back on, and also to hydrate her. She was wearing an oxygen mask at the time to help her breath as she continued to fight the respiratory infection.

Four days of antibiotics and she had finally started to show improvements. At least she was out of the danger area.

He found himself staring at the splint on her arm, the one that had been brutally broken during Ross’s last visit. A week before they had rescued her. He had watched the man approach her, trying to be kind and gentle. An exchange for her giving him the whereabouts of Steve and his team. She had been there for two months. Beaten almost daily. Starved. Mocked and ridiculed. From the looks of how she had returned before, waterboarded or at least, half drowned. Despite all of that, and despite the team having not come for her, she had shaken her head, refusing him.

He wanted to be proud of her, but he had only managed to feel more horrified, because of what had happened after. She should have spoken. They could take on Ross’s men. They could move. Steve and his team would be able to protect themselves. She didn’t deserve to suffer over protecting people who hadn’t been there to protect her.

Steve had almost gotten sick watching Ross step on her arm, grabbing her wrist, and wrenching brutally. The crack of the bone was picked up by the camera. _That_ had gotten a response from her, probably the first one since her return to the cell that day before. A pained, writhing, excruciating response. Then Ross had left, and someone else had taken his place, cutting deep lacerations into her skin all over her torso. Most likely, the ones she had still been bleeding from when they had rescued her.

It took her so long to pass out. So many cuts, so much blood. They left after that. Then when she had woken up, they dumped something on her that made her writhe and scream until she passed out again. No doubt, the alcohol that had smelled so strongly on her when they had found her.

Steve’s hands were shaking again. There was no one to hit. No punching bag to take his anger and guilt and pain out on. Just him, this hospital room, and an extremely fragile friend.

He collapsed into a chair instead, wanting to simply sit next to her and wait for her to wake up, so he could talk to her and apologize. She wasn’t conscious now, but he hoped she would be soon. The doctors told him she woke up intermittently, then fell back asleep. While it had been several days, she was still sick, and her body was only just beginning to recover from the effects of starvation, dehydration, and sleep deprivation. The combination of her sickness and injuries would also mean she needed more rest, and would take most of her energy until she was further along into her recovery.

He thought back to all the times they had worked together. Her joking about his age. Teasing him about his dating life. Trying to find him a girl to hang out with. The way she fought and took down men much bigger than herself. His heart ached at the thought that that person, the joker, the fierce spy, would be gone forever. Never able to recover from the physical and mental wounds of her torture.

From the way Clint had spoken earlier, it had not been the first time. He didn’t want to think about it having happened to her more than once. Once was enough. Once was enough for _anyone_. No one deserved this.

“If you think any harder, your head will pop,” a weak, hoarse and quiet voice spoke up. He flinched, startled, and looked at the bed. Sleepy green eyes looked back at him, shadowed with emotions that she was holding back from him. The effort to speak was clearly taxing on her, as she almost immediately began to cough. Fortunately it seemed like her coughing was less severe than before, and she recovered faster from her breathlessness. Despite that, her exhaustion was clear in the paleness of her skin and the bruise-like shadows under her eyes.

“I’d like to pop someone’s head,” Steve said, trying to make it a joke, referring to Ross. Except she flinched immediately, body tensing, and he felt like he had both been burned and had also been thrown back onto the ice.

She was scared. Of _him_. She thought he wanted to hurt her.

“Ross’s head,” he added softly, not sure how to change his response in a way that she would believe it. Even now, she eyed him warily, as if gauging whether he was being honest or not. She seemed to relax, after a moment, and he hoped it was because she trusted him.

“Why would you care?” She eventually said. His blood felt like ice at the words. He didn’t understand, but he had an idea, of what she meant. “I betrayed you. You should be happy,” she continued on, her tone almost lifeless, full of self loathing and pain, as well as acceptance.

Steve stared at her in dismay, and she almost immediately dropped her eyes, tensing as if to be hit.

“No matter what happened in the past, you are my friend. All of us care about you. Don’t forget that,” Steve whispered, not sure if she would even believe him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading!
> 
> Angst-train is unreal right now. Her emotional state is almost worse off than her physical at this point.


	9. Fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha struggles, losing herself to panic. Tony lets the world know the truth about Ross.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for a pretty long panic attack in this chapter!!

She lost track of the number of times she had woken up only to fall back asleep not long after. At some point she became aware that her dreams weren’t full of nightmares like they had been, and she knew she had a certain other woman to thank for that. She also became aware that at some point, the glass shards she was coughing through in her chest faded away, and so did her cough too, until it was just a mild inconvenience.

At some point, she was also able to speak again, although it was painful to talk and her throat felt like it was being ripped open by daggers, inside and out. At some point she was able to stay awake, and hold onto conscious thought for more than a few minutes at a time.

Which meant it was time to move.

It was a long, painful process to try and untangle herself from the bedsheets. Her ribs throbbed in pain with the movement, and she struggled to properly grasp onto anything with the broken bone in her arm, despite the splint. It took her an absurd amount of time just to sit up, and her world has grayed out considerably around the edges, vision blurred, body wavering as she fought for stability. She was so weak and pathetic, unable to sit up. How would she be able to stand and walk out of here?

She turned her body so her legs were hanging over the foot of the bed, breathing slowly as she allowed herself to relax, vision clearing. She hesitated briefly. How long had it been since she last stood on her own?

 _Might as well try_ , she thought.

Then she pushed herself off the bed, and her feet hit the ground, and every muscle in her body simply failed all at once. She collapsed in a heap, and an IV in her arm throbbed painfully as it was nearly ripped out of its place in the fall. Stupid of her not to have noticed. She shuddered from where she lay on the floor, as limp and useless as a helpless child. She hated it. This feeling of helplessness. She was no more useful now than she had been when she was shackled and gagged on the floor of her cell.

She refused to submit. Trembling violently, she began to pull herself up with her arms, using the side of the bed as a brace. She had almost managed to pull herself up, swaying, trembling, her vision graying at the edges, when her muscles failed her and she collapsed back down.

_Fuck._

“What the hell are you doing?” The voice was shocked. A little angry. Sharp.

She recognized it, but her heart still jolted painfully in her chest, immediately racing. She looked up, fear coursing through her despite her desperate efforts to clamp it down, and looked at Tony. He was at the entrance of the room, standing without his armor, stepping forward. She jolted back on reflex, smashing her head against the edge of the bedframe, and squeezing her thin body between the frame and the medical equipment.

She was panicking. Fear made her breaths come in short, fast bursts. The pain was somehow muted, buried beneath fear and anxiety as she gasped for air, trembling as she curled in on herself. She couldn’t fight. She couldn’t move. She was useless, broken.

A liar. Deceitful. A traitor. She had hurt him.

She wouldn’t blame him now for getting his revenge. For giving her what she deserved, knowing she deserved it. Logically she knew that he had gotten her _out_ of there, and wasn’t going to hurt her, but the sheer rush of panic that was racing through her was impossible to ignore, and she couldn’t even begin to clear her head from it. She felt wetness on her face, and raised a shaking hand, mortified, to feel the tears running down it.

_Pathetic. Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic._

The red room would have whipped her bloody for this. Cut her open, awake and feeling, as they told her they were fixing her. Making her stronger, better. The pain made her stronger.

“Shit. Okay,” Tony was stammering from just outside her narrowing field of vision. “Oh fuck, what do I do?”

Perhaps in any other moment, his awkwardness would make her laugh. But right now it only made her more anxious and stressed, fueling her panic and sending her heart into a pulsing speed, beating so fast it was starting to hurt. Her chest hurt. Her lungs were useless husks within, unable to take in air. That’s why she was gasping so hard, but still so breathless. Was her chest on fire or was it just the broken ribs aching?

Tony had dropped into a crouch. His blurry form was approaching slowly, trying to look as non threatening as possible. She understood that. Logically, she was able to determine what he was doing.

But her body still recoiled with a fresh pang of terror as she struggled even further to hide herself, trembling as she raised her arms in front of her face defensively. The cast on her arm would deflect one or two hits, although it would hurt, before the integrity of it began to fail. Then she would have to try to block the rest of the hits in the flesh of her other arm, only to realize belatedly that there was only bone – the flesh had wasted away, just like her strength.

She drew in a single desperate, gasping breath, feeling as though she was choking on the air itself. Why was she choking? Why couldn’t she breath? Her heart raced a frantic rhythm. She couldn’t… couldn’t.. what?

“Nat, breath for me. In and out. Come on, momma spider,” Tony was saying.

She shuddered at the words. Somehow focused on his face long enough to remember why she was afraid to begin with. Realized even if she deserved it, she didn’t want to do it again. Couldn’t handle it. Not again.

“T-t-t-tony. I’m sorry. Please, I c-cant. Please don’t hurt me,” she gasped out, somehow managing to stumble through her words only a few times.

For a moment his face seemed to crumple, and she didn’t understand why he looked like he was about to cry. Then she realized she must have hurt him again, and she had promised to herself that she wouldn’t do that, and had already broken the promise. She curled in on herself, gasping, heart racing, and trembling violently, feeling as if the entire room was shaking.

She felt a hand on her, and she flinched violently, but otherwise, was no longer checked in enough to react. She was forcing herself to withdraw from the situation. Focus on something else, other than what was going on. Let her body do what it wanted. She couldn’t handle the range of emotions – the fear, the pain, the sadness, the anger. All of it. It was all overwhelming, and unable to even strike out to defend herself, or just to blow off some steam, as she would often do in these situations, there was nothing else she could do but internalize it.

Her head ached. Her chest ached. Her arm was pulsing. Weak, quaking muscles throbbed and she wanted to cry, only to remember that she was actually already crying. How embarrassing. She was worthless, truly.

She was being pulled out of her hiding spot, gently. She curled even tighter into herself, protecting her vitals from being struck. Her broken ribs were only just beginning to heal, and she didn’t want to break them _again_. She choked out a desperate sound, struggling to get air past her strangled throat and into her compressed lungs, trembling so hard her teeth were clattering together. Arms wrapped around her, and she whimpered out a sound, bracing herself for a hit that didn’t come.

“I won’t hurt you, I promise,” the voice said consolingly. She recognized the voice, but couldn’t quite believe it based on the thoughts and emotions that were lighting up her mind.

“I betrayed you!” She gasped the words out,despite not wanting to say anything at all, even if it was just to protect herself. “I deserve it!” She ducked her head down, trying to protect it with her shoulders, in preparation for a punch that she was expecting to land.

It didn’t.

“You don’t deserve this,” Tony said, gently squeezing her shoulders.

She wheezed harshly in her distress, coughing into his shirt, struggling to understand. She _did_ deserve it. She was responsible, had done horrible things, had hurt him. Hurting people was all she had ever done.

“I swear. Just breath in and out. Like me. Copy me.” No questions. Just orders.

She could do orders. A question would have sent her over the edge. She tried to focus on him. His breathing. Forced herself to breath in when he did, and out when he did, even if her lungs weren’t cooperating and it didn’t feel like she was getting any air. She shook. Tears continued streaming down her face. But she followed his orders, because maybe she could at least do _something_ right.

After a long time, her aching heart began to slow. After longer, her lungs started to function at least semi-properly, and her vision began to clear, only for her to realize just how tired she was.

Her eyes began to drift shut, still shaking, but significantly more in control. A thought occurred to her.

“Did you call me mama spider?” She asked, her voice hoarse and weak.

Then her eyes slammed shut and she drifted into darkness he could even answer.

* * *

Tony was shaking as he finally made it to his office space, staggered to a chair, and sank down into it right before his legs gave out. He had been through many panic attacks, especially since the events in New York, and later, Siberia. But having seen someone else having a panic attack and trying to help them through it? When they were someone that could, in a normal situation, lay his ass out flat within seconds if they got spooked? He knew the only reason he had managed to get close enough to help was _because_ she was too injured to fight.

It was not a nice thought.

Walking into the hospital room and seeing her struggling to lift herself off the floor – and failing, due to how weak she was – had made him speak out a bit too loudly in his alarm. His voice, and definitely his tone, had sparked an immediate reaction in her, making her entire body jolt toward him, and triggering a panic attack of epic proportions.

And fuck, he had not been prepared for that even in the slightest. Not the way she curled in on herself, staring up at him in fear as she struggled to breath. Not the _words_ that had come out of her. The words hurt, because he _knew_ they were based at least partially on truth. She was scared of him, not because of anything _he_ had done, but because of what _she_ had done, and the expectation that she would deserve to be beaten because of it. _I deserve it,_ she had said. She was scared of him hurting her, coupled with the knowledge that she _thought_ she deserved it. He didn’t know how to deal with that. Didn’t even know if he could. The guttural sounds of distress she had made when he held her had made his heart hurt.

But somehow, miraculously, she had listened. Managed to trust him enough to follow his advice and calm her breathing until the panic attack began to fade.

She had fallen unconscious not long after, which had made it significantly easier to lift her still emaciated body onto the hospital bed and check to make sure she had not injured herself in either her impromptu trips to the floor or the subsequent panic attack.

He had fled the room quite quickly after that, ashamed of himself as he did so. But he couldn’t stay in there. Not with her words of fear still sharp in his mind.

He had automatically moved to the files. The videos. FRIDAY had clipped together various recordings, making sure to leave out anything that had her named specifically. He looked it over, one more time, just in case. His heart was aching in his chest, and his head was starting to pound, and he just wanted this done. Wanted that bastard to pay for what he had done.

Twenty minutes later, several text files and several videos had been leaked onto the Internet, or directly to media outlets in some cases. A bombshell. It would crack over the council like a batch of rotten eggs.

He only wished he would be able to see Ross’s face when all the evidence of torture had committed, some of it by his own hand, was known by the entire world.

Within an hour, Tony’s cell phone was blaring with text messages and phone calls.

He grinned coldly. There would be no place in the entire world that Ross could hide that the Avengers could not find him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really enjoyed writing this chapter. I would say, of what I have written so far, this is the 'boiling point' of the angst. After this we will be moving towards the final parts of the story. There will certainly be more angst but this is the tip of it. Soon, we will give Ross what he deserves.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	10. Assemble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which all the Avengers from all over, and a few friends from the past, all come together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long to add! It's been very busy lately, plus a few storms happened and I was stuck doing other, far less fun things.

The first text was from Fury.

 _Is she okay?_ Was all the man sent. It didn’t matter that her name had not been in the leaked files. He would definitely have recognized her immediately, after all, she had worked so long with him. Tony had looked at it for awhile, deciding how to respond. He had never particularly liked Fury, given how sneaky and annoying the man could be, getting into all of Tony’s stuff and sometimes even causing problems. Also, the pirate was so short tempered. But he also knew the man did care, in his own way even if he tried to hide it behind his walls of stubbornness and avoidance. He knew the man _definitely_ cared about Natasha, even if she wasn’t his agent anymore. Even if SHIELD was basically gone.

Tony could technically lie, but he knew it wouldn’t go over well. Fury would likely find out the truth very easily. He might even have already found it, since the man had a knack for knowing things well before he should actually know about them. Which would make this a reach, an offer to help, and Tony would be a fool to turn that down. He also wasn’t a complete asshole.

 _She could use some help,_ he replied.

He knew Fury would appear soon. Probably within the hour. He’d walk in like he owned the place as he always did, and this time Tony wouldn’t even be able to be mad about it.

He got about three phone calls from council members in the next few minutes. All three of them he ignored, not interested in talking to them. They could form their own conclusions. The public outcry that was surging all over the world was definitely going to take care of things for him. He need only wait and watch, and track down the man responsible, and all those who helped, and put an end to them.

It was the next call that caught his attention. He answered it, unable to refrain from his usual form of stress management. “Morning Catnip,” he answered, as the video call popped up on his screens, showing him King T’Challa, Okoye, and a few people he didn’t know the names of.

The warrior women were standing stiffly, as the protective guard for their king. The younger woman not wearing a spear, who had long brown hair and was probably actually a teenager was standing close to T’Challa. He knew T’Challa had a younger sister, so maybe that was her. Tony also knew she was an inventor as well, creating all kinds of wonderful technologies based on Vibranium that he had always wanted to look at and study. T’Challa himself was not wearing his black panther suit, and his expression was quite somber.

He had a distinct feeling he knew what this call was going to be about. T’Challa had told Ross about her letting them go, putting her on the list to be hunted down. But as far as Tony was concerned, Ross would have found out one way or the other, as there had been many people there who had known what had happened, and the king wasn’t responsible for the horrible actions Ross had done. Although he wasn’t very fond of locking people up on an underwater prison for the rest of their lives, he knew that was probably what everyone had expected to happen to the rogues. Torture had not been a part of the accords. But that is what had happened, even before.

A brief memory of Wanda sitting in the cell in a straight jacket, a drug-glazed look in her eyes, and a shock collar around her neck flashed through his mind, and he grimaced. That was more than borderline. They had probably planned to leave her like that until they could find a permanent solution to controlling her powers.

Which, in all reality, could have been _never_. And they wouldn’t have batted an eye.

“Mr. Stark,” T’Challa began, and man, did he sound _tired_. Almost as tired as Tony felt. And the rest of the Avengers. They may be well on their way to resolving their Ross problem, but nothing was currently okay about any of this situation.

“I feel I may have to withdraw my support in the Accords,” T’Challa spoke in his near effortlessly regal voice, with his clear enunciation, and charming accent. He was a difficult man not to like, and even more difficult to not be drawn into everything he said, listening with rapt attention.

“Couldn’t agree more,” Tony replied.

T’Challa glanced away, just briefly. A flicker of discomfort entering his eyes. The young woman, probably his sister, shifted closer to him. “This was not my intention. I thought this would help regular people and keep them safe from danger and protect cities from harm. But at the cost of tremendous harm to an individual… I cannot support what is corrupt.”

Tony swallowed hard. Because he had shared all of those sentiments. Protecting the people _from_ the destruction of superheros and supervillains clashing. They had dropped buildings on people – unintentionally, of course, but it had still happened.

They could do better. There was still a way to change things, and be better at protecting civilians and minimizing casualties. Not quite possible to eliminate them – not when you had people flying around in metal suits blasting guns, bombs, and repulsers, or gods that could summon lighting, or giant green rage monsters that simply loved to destroy everything around them. But they could definitely improve. Just not if things like this was allowed to happen.

“We will not let anyone responsible for this get away with it,” Tony said. His voice was firm. The meaning behind his words was quite clear. Tony had killed people before. So had probably everyone in this compound. And while he had tried to steer away from it, there was no way he could just let this go.

Leaving Ross locked in a cell for the rest of his life would be a fitting solution to a pacifist, but no one in this team was feeling quite pacifistic lately.

T’Challa nodded, not looking surprised or disturbed.

“You will have all of our support in tracking him down. I will join you in this fight, to set this right. It is barbaric and dishonorable, to abuse a prisoner.”

Tony could only nod.

His next calls and messages came from reporters. He also ignored them. He had no interest in giving them horrific details that they would use to give themselves more views and ratings as they devoured the story. They were useful in getting the news out, but that didn’t mean he didn’t loathe most of them because he knew most of them only cared about the views of their stories, and not the suffering of the victim.

There was one text that caught his attention.

_We will talk soon._

Unknown number. No name. Could not trace it. It made him nervous. Was it Ross, threatening him? Was it someone else? Who else was out there that was missing, that would have a personal play in this.

Bruce?

Later the avengers had gathered together in a common room, mostly quiet as they waited. The news was exploding. There were rumors about who the victim was. Some people saying it was the Scarlet Witch. Others saying it was an unidentified mutant. Surprisingly very few people though it was Black Widow. Perhaps it wasn’t such a surprise, though, considering most people would assume she was too elusive to get captured.

It was only a minor relief.

Fury stalked into the room, very suddenly and very dramatically, making everyone flinch slightly and grab at their weapons.

“Holy fuck,” Tony burst out, lowering his wrist gauntlet and placing a hand over his chest dramatically.

Fury glared at him. Glaring was his only expression, however, and it lacked the usual anger that the man’s eyes usually had when he was actually annoyed. He had come from the direction of the med ward, and not the entrance of the building.

Huh.

The man sat down heavily in a chair, averting his eyes and gazing off at nothing. “I should have offered her a safe house to stay in. I was trying to keep an eye on her.. then she disappeared,” he said aloud.

Clint made a slight noise. “She would have said no.”

Fury nodded. “But I should have offered it.”

Tony understood that guilt. The ‘maybe I could have done something more’ feeling. He didn’t have a chance to respond. A loud _crack_ from the top of the compound had everyone springing upwards, weapons at the ready as the building shook violently.

“FRIDAY?” Tony called, ready to summon a suit at a moment’s notice.

“Bifrost activity. Thor, Bruce Banner, and an unknown woman of Asgardian nature have arrived.”

There was a brief silence as everyone both lowered their weapons and considered that. It meant that Bruce was back. So was Thor. But it also meant whoever had sent that text message was decidedly _not_ Bruce, and Tony now had no idea who it was.

“Let’s go meet them,” he said.

Thor didn’t have his usual energetic, happy attitude. Bruce looked a little worse for wear, mentally. As if he had just spent the last two years in space confused and scared and not knowing what was happening. The woman, who was quite attractive but also rather scary – in a Romanoff type of way, actually – he learned was called Valkyrie. Which he also learned was not actually her real name, but her ‘class’ from Asgard. She did not make an attempt to say what her real name was. Tony decided he wasn’t going to ask. She had a long looking dagger and she wasn’t afraid to use it.

Tony looked at all of them, not quite sure what to say. “Hey Bruce. How was space?” He ended up asking, as his former science bro looked at him nervously and then, finally, broke into a slight smile.

“Hulk enjoyed it a lot. I only got to see the last few weeks,” the man responded. He even _sounded_ different, less reserved and more open. The way he spoke wasn’t as soft, as if he had lost some of that nervousness somehow. “It’s.. good to see you all again,” Bruce added, looking at the time, frowning slightly at those he didn’t recognize. Sam and Scott.

“You too, buddy,” he replied. To his surprise, Bruce pulled him in for a hug.

“Friend Stark,” Thor began, voice unusually subdued. “Heimdall told me what has occurred while I was gone. We have come as soon as we could to help,” he said, anger crackling in his expression. The lights in his tower flickered slightly as static flared from the god, and it took him a moment to regain control of his emotions again, allowing the tower to stabilize itself. Tony was glad he had installed those electricity sensors that would cause the building to reset every time it sensed a problem. Usually a Thor problem.

“Glad to have you here. It’s been a bit since we’ve seen each other,” Tony replied, as Bruce had moved forward into communicating with the rest of the team, and introductions went underway with Sam and Scott. Interesting the Valkyrie followed Bruce instead of staying with Thor, keeping at the man’s side. He wondered what that was all about.

Did Bruce go and get himself a space girlfriend?

They all ended up making their way back to the meeting room. “How much did… Heimdall tell you?” He asked, trying to remember the name of what was essentially the universal spy that could see and hear everything, everywhere, at the same time. According to Thor at least.

“He mentioned one of our team mates was imprisoned and seriously injured by the captors. And that you are going after the ones responsible,” Thor said. The vagueness of the news didn’t surprise Tony that much. It seemed that this Heimdall did not like to give straight answers or explanations to anything, always keeping it at a guessing level.

“Yeah that’s basically right,” he muttered.

“Tony? Who was it?” Bruce spoke, looking right at him. Thor was also watching him, and he silently hoped his tower would be able to survive this next surge of anger and electricity.

“Nat. There was… a fight. The government stepped in to try and get a control on the damage, except Ross was involved,” he said, trying to explain as quickly as possible before there was an explosion. But as soon as he said Nat, there was a flicker of green on Bruce’s face. And as soon as he said Ross, there was a very noticeable increase in green. “He is the reason,” Tony added.

It was the most watered down possibly story he could tell. They could get into details later, once everyone was caught up with the current happenings.

“This Ross has no honor, to torture a maiden, even a warrior maiden, while under his care as a prisoner!” Thor boomed furiously, and the lights went out for a solid minute after he spoke. Bruce, despite being almost as green as a head of broccoli, was still able to speak rationally.

“How is she?”

Tony was about to respond. But then a door opened, startling everyone. Why the hell wasn’t FRIDAY warning him ahead of time of all these intruders in his tower? First Fury, now this.

“I would also like to know that,” a male voice said. Very familiar.

Everyone turned to look. His stomach nearly bottomed out as he saw the face of someone he had never expected to see again.

_Holy fucking shit._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is officially not Thor: Ragnarok or Avengers: Infinity War compliant. I'm sure you all guessed that already. Wanted to bring everyone together, to get the whole family back together and ready for the final 'showdown' so to speak, in a few chapters. What can I say, I love them all. And I definitely see Fury as a fatherly type to her. I am 'almost' done writing the story. Not quite there yet, but we're approaching the final stretches. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, and thanks for the comments!


	11. Struggles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha sees an old face. Healing is complicated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all pretty much guessed it! I just wanted to bring everyone together! I also finished writing everything except the last chapter - there are three more chapters after this one. To me it felt a little rushed, even though I tried not to make it feel like that. Hopefully it isn't!
> 
> Warning: another panic attack in this one

She woke slowly. Peacefully, compared to the last thing she remembered while being awake. Her muscles ached from her repeated, impromptu trips to the floor and from trying to use them, but she didn’t feel like she had seriously hurt herself anymore than she had already been hurt. Her panic attack in front of Tony was less easy for her to compartmentalize, being a complete and utter loss of control and dignity for her.

She didn’t want their pity.

Her eyes slowly opened, and she saw Clint sitting stiffly in a chair near her. She frowned at him, wondering why he was so uncomfortable. Was it her? Was it something else? She looked further around the room, eyes falling on something – someone, and freezing. Her chest tightened, lungs seeming to freeze up in her chest once again. He was dead. _Dead._ Had been for years. There was no way he was here right now, sitting in a chair opposite of her bed, half asleep, with a bruise on his face that looked remarkably like a fist.

“Clint,” she said aloud, raspy and hoarse, and the archer flinched next to her, having only just noticed she was awake. “I think I’m hallucinating,” she added.

The sleeping man – no, the ghost – raised his head, looking at her with eyes she remembered from long ago. One of his hands was black, she noted. Why was it black? The ghost was different than she remembered the man being. Older. More wrinkled. She squinted weakly.

“Yeah I might be hallucinating too,” Clint responded, his voice sounding dry and edged with anger, and she immediately knew it was real.

 _He was_ real.

“How are you alive?” She whispered.

Coulson smiled sadly.

“One of Fury’s projects. Brought me back to life. I still don’t quite understand how, but I was definitely dead for a long time,” he told her. His expression dimmed slightly, as if seeing the sharp flare of pain in her eyes. “I had wanted all of you to know I was still alive. I promise,” the man said. But how could she believe someone who had pretended to be dead for years. She – they – had _grieved_ for him.

But it wasn’t as if her own track record was clean. Not at all. She closed her eyes, swallowing back her pain and anger and focusing on the one positive to all of this – Coulson wasn’t dead. Her friend was alive. And well. Mostly.

“What happened to your hand?” She asked.

Coulson raised the black hand, shrugging a little. “I touched one of those crystals that turns humans into stone. Had to cut my hand off to not be turned into a statue. Got a fancy prosthetic. Usually I try to cover up the color to match my skin tone but…” He trailed off.

He hadn’t wasted the time to cover up his prosthetic hand, too busy trying to rush to the tower to talk to them.

She understood.

“What happened to your face?”

“I happened,” Clint responded curtly.

Ah. Clint was pissed. He had a right to be. They have grieved for him. Felt his loss so strongly, it had hurt them for years. He had been alive all this time, but they hadn’t even known. Apparently, yet another lie Fury had told to them, and perhaps that hurt a bit too. But at the same time that she knew she should be angry, and should be upset, at the moment all she could feel was a tremendous amount of relief. Relief that Coulson was alive, and he was here right now, when she was so weak and fragile and unable to control even her most basic emotions. He had never judged her weaknesses, never made her feel like she was less than anyone else. He had stuck up for her with Clint, at the very beginning, not even knowing who she was or even half the things she had done, giving her a second chance.

Maybe later she would be angry, but for now, she could only feel happy that he was here.

At some point, Clint softened up a little, and they all began to talk about the missing time between Coulson’s ‘death’ and him being here now. It had definitely been eventful for him, full of ups and downs. She tried not to feel hurt thinking about how he had gotten his own team, having left them behind for his ‘new life’, as Fury had put it. She understood the reasoning, in a logical, emotionless sense. It had been for the good of the Avengers, and everything they had done as a team, as well as to protect Coulson from people that would seek to discover the means of his revival – although from the sounds of it, he had already been attacked by a handful of people for that very reason.

If they had known, they could have done something to help protect him from all the mess that had been going on over the past few years. Between their own messes. Or maybe they wouldn’t have. The Avengers had had a fair share of their own messes, some that they caused, and others that had been thrust upon them. She was busy running for her life with Steve from the Winter Soldier and HYDRA while Coulson was hiding out with his new team to also try and survive when SHIELD fell.

The calmness she as feeling now as a stark contrast to the pure, violent fear and anxiety she had felt the last time she was awake. Of course, having had the panic attack, a lot of that emotion had left her little bubble of emotion, bursting out of her instead of remaining bottled inside. It was a relief now that they were gone, although she still felt slightly mortified that Tony had seen (and heard) all of that nonsense coming out of her.

It was humiliating.

An hour later, she had seen _everyone_. Tony, Steve, Sam, Scott, Wanda, Vision… and then Fury, Thor, and finally.. Bruce. She had been shocked to see him, just like everyone else had been at first, but she was told the watcher from Asgard, who Thor called Heimdall, had finally located Hulk on an alien world called Sakaar. After that, Thor had gone to rescue Hulk, who had not wanted to be rescued, before he ended up captured and they fought in a gladiator arena. The next several minutes was an argument between Thor and a lady called Valkyrie (not her real name, Natasha noted), about who had won the fight, which she watched with sleepy bemusement.

It was almost normal. The most normal she had felt in a long time. Even if sudden movements made her flinch. Even if lights were a little too bright, or some noises too loud. Even if she couldn’t stand or even walk, despite her legs being probably the least injured part of her.

Later, Bruce carried in a bowl of soup. She tried not to look at it like it was a threat. It was the first time she was offered actual food, not nutrients through an IV, and although she ached for actual food, she knew being able to stomach anything was going to be a nightmare. It was not the first time she had to deal with re-adding food to her stomach after not having eaten for awhile – mostly due to the occasional captive situation she had dealt with while working with shield, and before that, ‘training’ in the red room. It always sucked.

Bruce must have noticed her looking at the bowl with trepidation.

“It’s just broth. Just to get your stomach ready to accept food again. Maybe we can add bits of vegetables into it later, or other things that are easily digestible,” he said. She nodded at that, still wary but definitely wanting _something_ in her stomach. Liquid nutrients or not, she was still hungry.

Her hand shook while she tried to properly hold a spoon. While she wasn’t left handed, she had been trained by the Red Room to use both hands. The problem lay in strength and mobility. With her right arm broken she couldn’t really grasp at all, and her left hadn’t really done any useful motions in quite some time. It took an effort to control it enough to not only get a spoonful, but manage to get the entire thing to her mouth. The soup was warm but not hot, likely so she didn’t burn herself when she managed to splash some all over her own arm in one of the failed attempts.

“I can help you if you want,” Bruce had offered, not quite realizing the connotation of his words when everyone tensed.

She froze, dropping the spoon into the bowl, memories of being forcibly fed tasteless “food” to keep her alive flashing through her mind. Her heart was racing. She could almost _feel_ it through the memory, the gag being shifted slightly, food shoved in, and then choking because she was unable to chew, trying to force it down even as her lungs screamed for air. She was surprised she hadn’t suffocated or choked to death during one of those ‘feedings’, although undoubtedly it would have happened at some point if they had fed her more often or had her longer.

The idea of being _fed_ by someone, even someone she trusted, sent her heart racing at what must be a mile a minute. Pain and panic gnawed at her and she started to claw her way backwards in her cot, the bowl of soup managing to be caught by someone else before it went flying and made an even bigger mess.

“Nat? Nat! Shit, I’m sorry. It’s okay, no one will feed you anything,” Bruce was saying, slightly green, stammering in the background of her buzzing thoughts and fear, fighting to be heard over the sound of memories of mockery and insults and painful strikes.

A hand was on her own, gentle but firm. At first it made her panic more, waiting for it to turn into pain. It didn’t. It became grounding, and she forced herself to focus on it, blocking out everything other than that hand until she finally found herself calming down, and began to look past it to see the arm and body it belonged to.

Clint. It was Clint.

She found herself able to breath again.

Embarrassment and shame immediately followed, realizing she had freaked out in front of several members of her team, and felt tears prickling at her eyes.

_Fuck._

“Hey. You’re alright. There’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Clint said with so much confidence in his words that she found it difficult not to believe them. But she knew better. Had been trained better. She was a disgrace to her own past, to everything she had been through, letting this effect her so much and so badly. She should be better, should be able to handle herself normally, and the only recovery she should need was physical _._

“There is. This isn’t the first time. I was trained for this,” she broke out roughly, not caring at the moment that there were others in the room than just Clint, and not caring that her voice cracked several times, or even that tears were starting to build in her eyes. All she saw and cared about was that Clint was there, and he wouldn’t judge her for saying these things.

His eyes darkened at the reminder of her past, and she knew he hated knowing what they had done to her, but they had done it to make her stronger. But she wasn’t strong. She was weak. She wasn’t marble, she was glass.

She shuddered.

“They didn’t _train_ you. They _tortured_ you. There’s a difference. Breaking you so that no one else could is not training,” Clint nearly snarled the words, and she recoiled back before she could stop herself, hearing that anger and immediately expecting to be hit. Her breathing had hitched, stuttering to a stop as she instinctively protected her aching ribs.

Clint flinched back, looking shocked for a moment and then sad. “I wasn’t angry at you,” he said gently. “I would never hit you.”

She _knew_ that too. Why was so she readily expecting to be hit at any moment? Clint wouldn’t hurt her. Even when they had ‘fought’ during the Civil War, he had been pulling his punches. So had she. They had simply tried to push each other down.

In the end she had been relieved it was Wanda that sent her flying and not Clint, if only because she would have a hard time accepting it from Clint.

“I know… I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a long road to recovery for her, but at least she has her entire team at her back. Old and new. Also, just a heads up - I stopped watching Agents of SHIELD after season 3. I don't know what has happened after that. Apologies if I missed some important thing there about Coulson!


	12. Rehabilitation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha works to try and get her body back in shape, so she can walk and stand normally. She gets help from Rhodey, who has his own experience doing just that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This does contain a bit of Rhodey's POV, which has his personal opinions on the civil war and outcome. Everyone is working through it!

One week. It took a week of struggling for her to be able to stand on her own. Several days after to walk, even though that itself was excruciatingly slow and awkward. She lost track of how many times she collapsed, either being caught by who she saw ‘practicing’ with, or catching herself on a railing with her good arm. It was frustrating and made her angry with herself, but eventually, all the work paid off. She was walking, for the first time in three months.

Putting on weight was a difficult thing. While she managed to eat in small amounts, solid food was hard for her to take in. The one time she did eat something solid, she spent the next half hour curled up around a toilet, painfully puking her guts out.

She had been sticking with soups and broths for quite awhile, which was helping at least. Still, being skin and bones was preventing her from putting back on necessary muscle mass to regrow her strength. She knew it was a work in progress, so to speak, but it made things difficult. She felt like a burden on the team, a weak link. Everyone else had their powers or enhancement or weapons. She just had her speed, skill and strength. Without that, she was nothing.

She couldn’t stop. She had to keep trying. The team seemed to _think_ she would get better, and would get back to her former self. She wasn’t so sure, but she was stubbornly going to try for them. She was relieved to have only had two more, mild, panic attacks since losing it in front of Clint, Bruce and Coulson, but that was also something she was struggling to recover from. To not flinch when someone approached or spoke to her. To not recoil away when someone reached out to touch her. To not curl into herself when she felt a touch. To let herself relax around others, even though she waned nothing more than to hide herself away and not be around anyone, waiting for the day for everything to change and for everyone she loved to turn on her and hurt her.

One other thing kept her going.

Revenge.

Ross was still out there. So were the three others she wanted to take down, who she called Bull, Weasel and Dagger, respectively. Maybe she was really taking after Clint when it came to nicknaming bad guys, but for that time she only had their voices or a rough idea of their body proportions to go by. Bull did most of the beatings, and had been built like a tank. Weasel had a nasally, high pitched voice, and was typically the rough groping her or mocking her sexually. And Dagger… that was the one that cut a few hundred gashes into her skin over the course of two months.

While there had been many more personnel at the Raft, most were just random people doing their job and avoiding the worse aspects. And while they probably could have used their brains and made a different choice on their own, instead of just following corrupt orders…

She had enough things on her mind.

Four people stood out to her. Four targets, to be taken out, so she could maybe rest easily some day, knowing they would never be able to touch her again. It was a selfish desire. She knew that. But it was what kept her moving, kept her from simply lying down and giving in and not bothering to attempt to fight back, or get back to who she used to be.

Revenge was not a good justification to live.

But at the moment, it was her _only_ one.

She carefully let go of the railing she had been clinging to. Took a step forward. Then another. Her knees were shaking, and she grit her teeth from the stress. Another few steps, and she managed to straighten her back, feeling how hunched she was and feeling the age-old need to straighten up and keep herself as stiff as a board. She may have left the Red Room many years ago, but that kind of conditioning stayed with her for a life time.

Her next step sent a muscle spasm racing up her leg, and her leg gave out and she pitched down to her knees, biting back a whimper. Her leg shuddered with pain from the spasm, and she couldn’t quite slow her own descent on her own.

“Woah!” Strong hands caught her under her arms just before she hit the floor, and she found herself leaning heavily against Rhodey as the pain in her leg slowly began to fade away, allowing her to put weight on it once more. Her breathing came harshly, and she struggled with the urge to hit something, or hurl something across the room in her frustration. Often it felt like she was getting nowhere. She hated feeling so weak, and looking so pathetic, especially in front of the other Avengers. Even though Rhodey understood, more than anyone else what she was going through, she still felt a burning shame and embarrassment at being so worthless in front of him.

“It may not feel like you’re getting better.. but you are,” Rhodey said, and she found herself clenching her jaw around an automatic retort, settling for just nodding her head. He was just trying to help, and her bad attitude was not his fault. It was her own.

“I think a few cheeseburgers will help. Always Tony’s go to,” Rhodey continued. He was going to ramble, and she needed to reply.

She couldn’t quite hide her wince at the thought of a cheeseburger. While it would taste good, her stomach rebelled at the idea of eating something so solid, knowing it would hurt going down and also come back up much faster. She couldn’t bring herself to care much for solid food, given her last experience with it, even if she knew she would need to make the step eventually.

Soup really wasn’t all that filling. At least it didn’t make her sick.

“Maybe cheeseburger soup,” she replied, finally managing to straighten up, putting her weight back on her leg and ignoring the dull ache left behind from the spasm.

Rhodey laughed, but it sounded forced.

* * *

Rhodey had found himself dealing with a rough couple of weeks as he tried to sort out his feelings on everything happening. After the Civil War had happened, he had definitely found himself fully anti team Rogues, given the permanent injury received as a result. At the same time, he had – logically – understood both sides and why the things had happened the way they had. He couldn’t even be surprised about Natasha ‘defecting’ back to Steve, so to speak. Someone was going to get hurt or killed in that fight, even if that was not the intention of either side, such as that oil truck that exploded and nearly took out T’Challa and Nat, despite being a mistake. Fortunately his suit had been able to take the explosion and the impact.

While that someone had been him, and that injury had been permanent damage to his spine, he was still able to walk thanks to technology, and he was not killed. Still, he had been bitter about it all for quite awhile, especially dealing with his own healing and Tony’s depression as a result of everything that had occurred.

Mistakes had been made by everyone. Feelings trashed. Several were injured. And half of the Avengers, people he would fight with and joke with and hang out all the time with, were gone. Tony had explained what had happened, eventually, and Rhodey had been pissed – at Rogers specifically. Not for protecting Bucky, or going against the Accords, or even fighting Tony in the bunker… but for keeping that secret about Tony’s parents.

He _understood_ Steve protecting his brainwashed, tortured friend from Tony who reacted in a very human, emotional way and who regretted it after, when his emotions had died down and he recognized what had happened. But not for keeping the secret for years.

Things would have happened so much differently if Steve had simply come out to Tony about it, and told him from the very beginning when he first found out.

But that was besides the point. It had happened, and the past couldn’t be changed.

When Tony had come back from his visit to the Raft, pale and shaken and looking horrified, it had taken him a bit of effort to figure out what had happened, and his stomach had bottomed out when he understood. The Raft was supposed to have just been a prison, even if everyone had disagreed with its existence on a fundamental level – seriously, an underwater prison trapping people permanently without a trial?

But it was supposed to be _just_ a prison. Not a place to hurt and torture people. They had already crossed that line a bit with the straight jacket and shock collar on Wanda, but now they had completely crossed over all possible lines. While he certainly hadn’t forgiven any of the rogues, he was not going to stand by and refuse their help to help this rescue mission.

 _Nothing_ could have prepared him for what they found. Tony had said it would be bad. What little he had seen had been bad, anyway, and that was just looking at her from a distance. But Rhodey hadn’t expected _this_.

He had only gotten a glimpse of Tony carrying out a blood-soaked and scrawny Natasha, hair dull and matted with blood, trembling violently in his friend’s arms. He had gotten a better look in the quinjet, and it had _hurt_. He and Natasha had never been each other’s favorite people. Simply put, their ways of dealing with problems had always opposed each other, and it made it difficult to find any common ground. They didn’t _dislike_ each other or anything. Just, in the majority of group meetings or parties, they were both hanging out with different people.

But seeing her like that had flipped a switch. A very angry, protective, violent switch in which he wanted nothing more than to fly himself over to wherever Ross was hiding out, and blow it out of existence.

He had not really visited her much at all in the medical bay, because it didn’t feel like he had any right to. He had never really been a friend of hers. But he had brooded quietly on his own, filled with an overwhelming desire to take revenge, one that he couldn’t really do because if anyone deserved to get the revenge, it was her.

When she began to attempt to get up and move as when he finally managed to bring himself to step in. Watching has struggle and stagger, barely able to hold herself up, reminded him of when he was attempting to adjust to wearing the leg braces so he could learn to walk again. It had been a pain in the ass, frustrating, awful, and just downright… depressing. All at the same time. But he had managed it, and he knew he could help her as well. Although her difficulties were more based on pain, weakness, and muscular atrophy than his spine being damaged and losing feeling in his legs, it was still going to be a similar process.

She didn’t push him away, which was good. She was cranky as hell, but he had been also and he couldn’t blame her for being frustrated with this situation. Anyone would be.

He had been helping her for a little over three days. He tried to ignore the way she would flinch whenever he reached out to her, or shrank back when he stepped too close, clearly intimidated – subconsciously, at least – by his presence. He also tried to ignore the fact she was still skin and bones, barely having put any weight on at all, likely because she was unwilling to eat anything solid. He had heard about how well it had gone to suggest trying to help her eat.

He tried not to think about why she was so nervous about eating. So he made jokes to try and get her more comfortable, hoping she would at least start eating solid food soon instead of just soup and liquids. While both of those were better than IVs, they weren’t going to be enough to get past the muscular atrophy she had suffered.

Physical therapy was going to be a bitch. And she would refuse to see an actual specialist on it. She already had.

Rhodey walked into the kitchenette, where Bruce and Clint had prepared Thai food. Natasha was there, and Clint was talking to her quietly. “No cheeseburger soup?” He asked, immediately reaching for a plate to pile curry onto. He could have swore he saw her smile. Just a little. So small and fast, he wasn’t even sure it had even been there.

And if her eating a small portion of plain rice didn’t feel like a victory, he didn’t know what did.

Of course, Tony came barging in not long after, nearly making her choke as she recoiled, but the man barely noticed in his energy.

“We have a location,” he announced.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are getting there! Next chapter is the one we've all been waiting for. I'm not entirely sure I'm happy with how I wrote it, but I feel it fits best. I might edit it a few times before I upload it. Thanks for reading! Stay safe out there!


	13. Retribution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Avengers avenge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go! The final 'real' chapter! Time for those responsible to pay, so nothing like that ever happens again, to anyone on the team.

Natasha joined them. No one said no. No one argued. No one even attempted to suggest she should stay at the compound. Perhaps no one dared to, because they saw that glint in her eyes that suggested what she would do if anyone did. She needed to go. To see those who had done horrible things to her, and to pay them back in full. She wasn’t sure how. What she would do when she found them. _If_ she could even do anything. She had a gun, and her aim with her left hand was good because she had trained with both hands, but her _body_ was not entirely 100%. Not even 20%, really.

It would be enough. She would make sure of it.

It had taken three days to make the proper preparations. Three days in which she worked twice as hard at trying to get herself back into shape. After eating a small amount of plain rice without too much of a reaction from her body, she continued to add small amounts of other solid foods to her diet, refusing to give in to her own weakness.

Everyone was there, squeezed onto the quinjet like sardines. Before it might have made her annoyed or uncomfortable to have so many different people all together on one mission, knowing too many people was a crowd that could make things go pretty bad.

It was mostly quiet, other than a few murmurings between Tony and Bruce, and Thor talking loudly about Asgard’s conquests, probably in an attempt to make things happier and less tense. Or at least, to distract her from her racing thoughts, repeatedly harking back to the past few months of near-endless abuse. Well, the past month and a half had been endless recovery – or sort of recovery, in some cases. Her healing was still slow, and although she could mostly move without pain from her ribs, the worst of the broken ribs was still lagging behind, tormenting her every breath. Her broken arm was mostly healed, but it still hurt her to even make a fist, and she couldn’t quite put the strength into holding onto something, like her gun.

Her preferred gun hand – or any weapon hand, really – was her right. She was, of course, formidable enough with her left to do what needed to be done, but her aim would be difficult because of the atrophy and ache that still burned in her muscles.

She was squashed on the quinjet, between Coulson and Clint, and directly across from Tony, who was next to Vision and Rhodey. She noticed that Steve and Sam were sitting a ways from Tony, and knew that they likely had not yet gotten around to apologies and clearing the air, so to speak, but this was all a start. Everyone was working together and able to be in the same room as one another, and she was definitely relieved about that.

Maybe this would work out.

The location was remote. They cloaked the quinjet before landing quietly. While they doubted Ross and his remaining men would have enough firepower to do anything against the whole of the Avengers _and_ the remaining members of SHIELD, they didn’t want to give the man a chance to escape if he knew they had arrived.

Get in. Destroy everything. And kill those responsible.

 _That_ was the mission. No one had explicitly said kill, other than Thor, but everyone knew that was what they were going to do. No sitting in a jail cell, getting three meals a day, receiving medical care and decent human treatment in Ross’s future. Even Steve had not made a word or motion to argue against that, being the righteous and non-murderous kind of person he was. He had his limits. Everyone did. She had reached her limit on abuse, having faced it for her entire childhood, escaping it as an adult, only to find it once again.

She was tired of being hurt. Tired of being hit and beat on, treated like she was less than human. She had been. She was. While what the Red Room had done to her made her less than human, what SHIELD and the Avengers had changed had brought it back. Made her a person again.

Then Ross had gone and stripped all that away. Treated her like an object, something that could be broken and tossed away, not important enough to even care for.

She was angry. It had taken a month and a half for that self hatred, the feeling like she had deserved what had happened to her to change – to be angry about it. To know it had been wrong, and she really didn’t deserve it. That she was loved and cared for by other people, and _useless objects_ like she used to be weren’t loved or cared for.

“Get out of your head,” Clint whispered in her ear.

She glared at him, half seriously, but she knew he was right. She would focus on the mission. She could do this. She was _improving_.

She still managed to flinch when Tony abruptly stood up as the jet landed, spooked by the sudden movement, but she didn’t fall into a fully blown panic attack like usual, so that was an improvement. She was a bit fed up with herself and her public panic attacks, hating how weak they made her look and feel in front of the rest of the team, and hating how humiliating it was above all.

Coulson had told her there was no reason to feel humiliated. She didn’t feel disgusted when anyone else on the team had a panic attack, only concerned. Why should it be any different when she had one in front of them?

_Because unlike them, she was a weapon – an object. She was trained to be emotionless._

She did not answer. The words were trapped in her mind, but never did quite come out out loud. She didn’t want the pitying looks they would give her if they knew.

She struggled to her feet, managing to stand with some difficulty, but quickly finding her balance once she was up. A cold mask fell across her face, eyes going blank as they often did at the beginning of a mission. She had four targets. Four marks. And she didn’t quite care if she was the one to get them, as long as they were taken care of.

She did at least want to get the satisfaction of seeing their expressions, when they knew karma had finally come for them.

It was also fitting that Ross and his men were hiding out at an abandoned warehouse – the same type of building in which she had initially been caught, many months ago. It was also fitting that none of them had been living the high life at all, hiding away, trying to avoid being caught in the public eye whatsoever.

Sam, Vision, T’Challa, Tony and Rhodey went to the roof of it, to cut off that exit and work their way down. Wanda was working perimeter, ready to use her power to block in anything, including bullets or missiles to avoid any potential collateral damage. Natasha was with Clint, waiting to go in after the initial wave of agents, which consisted of Fury, Coulson, Hill, and Thor and Valkyrie. Bruce was staying behind, to avoid a hulk out in the midst of a busy city that probably could not be contained easily.

Normally she would be in the initial strike, but she was injured and in no shape for physical combat. She would only be allowed in once the way was clear, and Clint was _very_ adamant about her following those orders, much to her annoyance.

Coms went quiet as the attack began. Then doors burst inward, and gunfire started, and the top of the warehouse lit up with flashes of red and yellow. She began to stumble forward, occasionally needing support from Clint or a wall to lean on as she went, but she kept herself on her feet, determined to carry this all through. Several unknown men had already surrendered, throwing their weapons down. Militia types, who were only here because they were paid as security, but decided that the money from a corrupt man like Ross wasn’t worth their deaths.

She found Weasel first. Well, Clint did, specifically, stiffening next to her as his eyes immediately fell on a thin, tall man, that had managed to hide from the initial strike force, positioning himself under a cart, behind some bookshelves. He had just pulled himself out when they approached, and he grinned savagely at her, gun raised, looking as much like a freak she she had really expected.

“I’ve missed you, beautiful,” he sneered, in that sickening voice that made her stomach lurch, reminding her of being bound and blinded and gagged, unable to move as he touched her over and over, weak and helpless.

Clint jerked next to her, ready to shoot.

She was faster.

A loud bang from her gun. Weasel dropped his gun, eyes going wide in shock, mouth opening in a silent scream of pain as his hands went downwards. Clint relaxed next to her. She looked coldly at the man, and Clint grabbed the gun from the floor in case the injured man was able to recover from the pain in his most sensitive place. He was alive, but she found some satisfaction in her choice for letting him live, if only so that he would live, at least partially castrated.

Clint cuffed him to a wall, and they kept going.

Three targets.

They weren’t talking much, if only so she could keep her focus entirely on what was going on around her, rather than losing what energy she had on keeping up a conversation. Already she was fatigued, her body wanting to get back to resting. But she wouldn’t rest until she had finished her job.

Somewhere up ahead, there was a lump lying on the ground. Clint too out an arrow, letting it fly. There was a man aggressively tied onto the ground in a hogtie, looking very bruised and worse for wear. He was huge, very muscular, with arms like logs. She did recognize this one, only because it was the man she had kicked in the groin when she attempted to escape. Who had then spent every single day coming in and beating her – she knew he had been the one to smash her head and face repeatedly against the wall of her cell. Bull.

Clint’s arrow had pierced directly through the middle of the man’s hands. She ignored the hateful look on his face, the gun feeling heavy with the thought of killing. Only one person really needed to die tonight.

She did not encounter Dagger. But she did hear Tony on the coms, saying they got _one of the assholes_ , and since she had already seen the other two assholes, it had to be him. That just left Ross. And knowing Ross, he would be hiding out in the deepest, darkest safe room in the place, letting all his men get captured or killed in the fighting rather than come out and face what was going to happen.

It would only be a matter of time. Her fingers twitched around her gun. Tonight, Ross would be dead. He would get what he deserved, and everyone would be safe from the bitter man’s cruelty.

She stumbled a bit more as time went on, but still kept herself up. She was definitely getting tired. Finish the mission. Then sleep.

Something flashed out of the corner of her eye. A fist smacked into her jaw and she crumpled to the ground, unable to keep her footing. For a long moment she lay motionless on the ground, her limbs weak and numb. Somewhere, she could hear the sounds of a fight, and it was that sound – the sound of Clint fighting – that made her struggle out of her daze and raise her head, just in time to see Ross slam an electric baton into Clint’s chest, making the archer convulse and fall to the ground.

She snarled in rage, trying and failing to launch herself upward, only managing to grab hold of a support beam and drag herself to her feet, struggling to regain balance. Ross turned on her, his eyes cold and desperate, and she suddenly felt her spine go completely stiff by a burst of complete panic.

She hadn’t seen his face since she had been captured, when he had looked at her with a smug grin on his face, his eyes twinkling cruelly with excitement, right before he had sent her to the cell to be beaten and abused, over and over.

“Romanoff. I didn’t break you as well as I hoped. You’re pathetic enough that I might just do that now, before they take me down,” Ross sneered. He knew he wasn’t getting out of here alive. She went to raise her gun, only to realize she had dropped it when she fell, and had not grabbed it again before getting back to her feet. The process of diving down and grabbing it, and then jumping back up again, would take too long and be too unlikely for her healing body to take.

She was really not ready for hand to hand combat yet. But she wasn’t going to have a choice – Clint was still struggling to recover from the electricity and Ross was advancing on her, electric baton at the ready. She inwardly blanched at the thought of electricity – _not again_.

She dodged his jab, slamming her good hand directly into the inside of his arm, forcing him to drop the baton. She then kneed him in the stomach, right before an elbow she was unable to move in time to dodge caught her in her healing ribs. The breath wheezed out of her, and she curled in on herself with a cough, pain lighting up her senses. Angry, refusing to let pain slow her down, she threw herself forward. Ross was not a fighter, and although he could hit pretty hard, he had no skill – and he had not anticipated her immediate attack, expecting her to take time to recover.

She managed to get her good arm around his throat, her other out in an attempt to balance. Without hesitation she bit down on the side of his neck as hard she could, ignoring the taste of blood in her mouth when she broke skin. She didn’t have the body strength or muscle mass to haul her legs up to choke him out with her thighs, so she simply threw all of her weight on him, forcing him back.

She felt his fist on her side and her stomach, one hand grabbing at her back, fingers digging with bruising force into her shoulder. She did not let go.

Ross yelled in pain, before grabbing her almost healed broken arm and _squeezing_.

Lights burst in front of her eyes, and she felt herself recoil away on instinct, screaming out. She managed to stay on her feet just long enough to squint at him through tears of pain and lash out, with all the force she had managed to get back, with her good arm – her fist smashed into his throat, making direct contact, and he collapsed to the ground instantly, coughing and gagging and struggling to breath.

She could see Clint struggling to his feet nearby, and she was stumbling back, grabbing her aching arm just as her knees gave out, and she sank to the ground.

“Holy fuck, Nat. Are you okay?” She heard Tony’s voice, and turned to see the roof squad advancing around the corner, with iron man aiming a repulser at Ross in case he tried anything else. She took a moment just to breath, looking at them and then back at the man that had been in charge of her torture.

“Not as pathetic as you, clearly,” she hissed at him, watching with some satisfaction as his eyes turned into small pits of hatred, although he still hadn’t recovered from the hit to his throat to respond immediately. 

“Looks like we found the ringleader in torture,” Tony said.

Ross looked at him coldly, and then at the rest of the Avengers as they approached. “You freaks don’t even classify as human. _She_ isn’t even a person. Just a weapon from Russia,” Ross sneered.

She felt cold, a ghost of a memory flickering through her mind.

“ _What are you?”_ _Madame B had asked her._

_Natasha stared back at the woman, green eyes cold and empty._

“ _A weapon.”_

Clint snarled. “Go to hell.”

There was a gun in her hand. She stared at Ross, raising it to his head. One pull of the trigger, and he would be dead. She would have her revenge. He would not be able to hurt her or anyone else ever again. She would be the weapon she was always meant to be.

“ _You’re a person, not a weapon,” Clint had told her a long time ago._

Natasha lowered he gun.

“I’m not going to kill you,” she said. He looked surprised. Clint looked surprised also, until he saw the expression on her face.

“ _I_ am not,” she clarified, and he paled. This was far more satisfying than shooting him would have been. “You were never going to make it out of here alive,” she added.

She didn’t know how they were going to do the job. She knew her team were not torturers, or evil. She knew they would do what was necessary to get justice, but then it would be over. They would heal and come together again, officially, as the Avengers. This was them, avenging.

She stood and walked away, leaving the team to avenge her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This might not have ended the way some of you expected. While my initial plan was to go through and write out the entirety of Ross's death, I decided not to. Mainly, I realized it was probably better up to your imagination rather than mine. But also because his manner of death was less important to the story than the reason for it, and the ones who did it. The team avenged her, and she could leave, feeling a little less like a weapon, and a little more like a person.
> 
> The next chapter is the epilogue. It is probably shorter than the regular chapters. It will be from the perspective of a character I completely forgot about (as in, didn't even include in passing at all). It will hopefully fill in everything I missed over, forgot to mention, and tie up loose ends. It will be up soon!
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading!


	14. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pepper comes home.

Pepper walked through the front doors of the compound, having finally arrived just a few days after Tony sent her the message that it was safe for her to return. She had been in a business trip in Sweden, talking with an energy company about the use of utilizing Starktech renewable energy sources, when she got the call from Tony that she needed to go ‘off grid’ for awhile. At first the information he offered was limited, until she got a few text messages summarizing the rescue mission and what Ross and his men had done on the Raft. She knew he was being cautious about how much information he was sharing, probably to protect her, but she still wanted to know exactly what was going on.

Regardless, she went into hiding as he asked, disappearing into the wind as soon as the last conference was over. She had gotten good at that, having been trained to do that by Natasha, just in case something ever happened and none of the Avengers could protect her. She also had her own, backup protective suit in case she was found, but for the just over a month she had been hiding, she had not seen any trouble and had not needed to use it at all.

All the information she got was still limited. They couldn’t risk too many messages being sent, less someone was able to track them and find her. Still, she knew _something_ bad had happened, even if she wasn’t entirely sure who was involved.

It wasn’t until the videos were released, two weeks ago, that she got her answers. She wished she hadn’t. She had been at one of Tony’s random international safe houses, watching the news on TV when she saw the leak. She decided, for some awful reason, to watch the videos. She remembered sitting on the couch, looking on in horror as horrible recording after recording played, of extremely violent beatings one after the other. She remembered, at the end of one of the most brutal ones, which had shown Natasha – of course she would recognize her immediately – bound with her arms above her head, forced to stand, as she was punched violently in the ribs until the give of her ribs breaking was _visible,_ and Pepper had to rush to the bathroom before she was sick.

After those videos had dropped, Pepper had attempted to contact Tony about Natasha’s condition, but it was difficult to get any concrete responses from him. The Internet had blown up all across the world, however, with everything from political leaders, to human rights groups, and just ordinary individuals, speaking out against what had been done.

While there had been a small subset of people treating it like it was okay, because the victim was probably inhuman in some way, the vast majority were outraged.

King T’Challa from Wakanda had even issued a public statement, stating that his country would withdraw support from the Accords given the mistreatment of prisoners and torture, stating that this was not what he had signed up for. Several other countries followed suit, with politicians demanding justice, stating that torture was not tolerable whether the victim was human or super human.

After that, it was Ross who had disappeared, when the security council of the Accords publicly denounced him, claiming that his actions were unknown by the council and they had no hand in what had occurred.

Regardless, the Accords fell apart when at the end of the first week after the videos being published, 102 of the supporting countries withdraw their support. The remainder had either not issued any statement, or had decided they were going to wait for General Ross’s trial before they made a decision. The backlash of individuals across Facebook, Youtube and Reddit was extraordinary. Two of the platforms had been overwhelmed by the sheer volume of posts and content being uploaded, resulting in a massive crash of the servers, sending people to other media websites.

Pepper was grateful that almost no one was aware of ‘who’ the victim was. Natasha would not want anyone knowing, and it would only make the spy feel ashamed if the entire world knew what had happened to her.

Nearly a week after that, she got the message from Tony that everything was ‘taken care of’, and she was safe to return to the Compound. Pepper didn’t waste a moment on returning, getting on the first flight she could before driving to the Compound. FRIDAY’s voice greeted her, and she felt a sense of relief to finally be back in one of the places she belonged.

“Boss and the Avengers are on the communal floor, watching a movie,” FRIDAY told her, before Pepper could even ask the AI where everyone was.

That gave her pause. _All_ of the Avengers? Did that mean Steve and his group was here as well? It had been difficult not to be too angry at them, given how Tony had returned following the events in Siberia, and what he had told her about the video and the death of his parents. She didn’t _hate_ the man by any means, but she had been disappointed and angry and wanted to yell at him for his choices. Of course at the moment, yelling at anyone was the last thing she felt like doing. She wanted to see everyone, especially Tony. And Natasha.

She was certainly worried about what she was going to walk in to.

Of course, seeing the entire team, from Steve to Tony, with Clint and Wanda and Vision, and Sam and some guy she didn’t recognize – was that the tiny/big guy? - and everyone else was actually nice. In fact, it made her smile, seeing them all sitting together on a massive couch.

Steve and Tony were sitting on opposite ends, but they were in the same room together which was not something she had expected for at least… another year or two.

Sam was next to Steve, and Thor was next to Sam – and when did Thor even get here? And was that _Bruce?_ Her eyes fell on the middle of the couch.

Natasha looked small and frail, legs drawn to her chest, arms – one in a cast – wrapped around her own chest, pressed against Clint. She looked like she was asleep, eyes closed, breathing slow and shallow. There was a fresh bruise along her jaw, and she wondered what had happened to put it there.

Tony looked up at her with a smile, jumping up immediately.

“Pepper! You made it just in time. Simba here is just about to kick Scar’s ass,” Tony announced, throwing his arms around her. She felt the slightest tremors in his stance, and knew that he wasn’t totally alright, but he also wasn’t totally in a bad place, either. And oh, of course they would be watching a Disney movie.

She smiled as everyone greeted her, happy and welcoming. She met Natasha’s eyes, noting how tired the green eyes looked, and how _thin_ the spy was.

The spy sent a soft smile at her, though, and Pepper was certain things would be alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it! The conclusion to wrap up the story and tie up any loose ends I left behind.I won't lie that I totally forgot about Pepper for the entirety of the story until I did the last chapter. Whoops. There is still healing to be done and work for the team to do to fix things, but they are together and going to be working things out. Everything will be okay!
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading this story. I always struggle to finish my fanfictions and I'm so glad I made it to the end of this one! I plan to finish my horror/Avengers story and post it all at once because that's how it flows best so far.. but I want to make sure it's readable. That's still a huge work in progress! In the meantime I might post some one shots - I did post one recently. A tragedy, which I don't usually do because I'm a big crybaby. I enjoy writing Natasha whump, as well as team fics where they care about each other and try to help each other. I'm a sucker for Clint&Nat friendship and also Tony and Nat friendship! 
> 
> Again, thank you everyone! Stay safe and healthy and I will hopefully see you soon in another story!

**Author's Note:**

> A lot of the prologue is setting up the mindset of Natasha and Tony, and their thoughts/beliefs surrounding the civil war and why they made the decisions they made, as best as I can decide for the story. Chapters 1 and 2 are done and will go up in time. Let me know what you liked or disliked. I always feel like I never can properly characterize anyone right, so let me know if it sounds off. If something doesn't make sense, please leave a comment! I am notoriously bad at not noticing spelling/grammar errors. 
> 
> Also, if you guys know of any great (preferably finished or active) fictions revolving Natasha whump or post-Civil War without any bashing, send them my way! There's simply not enough of them that I can find and I'd love to read them!


End file.
